


so close and I'm halfway to it

by ariadne_odair



Series: let this road be mine [1]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Arthur finds out merlins secret but then they actually have to Deal With That, Consort Merlin (Merlin), Court Sorcerer Merlin (Merlin), Leon: okay I know you’re Pining TM but there is actually a castle to run, M/M, Magic Reveal, Pining, Protective Arthur, Protective Merlin, Season 4 ish???, Sir Leon is the real mvp, Slow Burn, chaotic merlin is the best merlin, eventually like there’s a lot of drama and emotional ineptitude before we get to that, everyone gets a magic reveal, in which Merlin and Arthur have to communicate, it might take a bit of progress, merlin is more powerful than anyone and Arthur is HERE FOR IT, so much pining, the knights squad, we stan an Arthur Pendragon with more than one brain cell, you get a magic reveaal, you get a magical reveal, you know the drill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-05
Updated: 2020-10-11
Packaged: 2021-02-26 05:16:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 35
Words: 221,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22135609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ariadne_odair/pseuds/ariadne_odair
Summary: Merlin swears he doesn’t go looking for trouble, but it seems to follow him around regardless. After being ambushed by a group of bandits, it’s up to Arthur and Merlin to rescue the rest of the knights. Of course this involves journeying through a forest full of magical creatures- because nothing in Merlin’s life is ever easy.That would be more than enough for Merlin to deal with, but nights alone in the wilderness and escaping death every five minutes, have a funny way of bringing two people together. Merlin doesn’t want to reveal his true feelings to Arthur, but then he never wanted to reveal his magic to anyone, either.And look how that turned out.It's a lot easier to manage Merlin's secrets between them when they're surrounded by nothing but trees. But Arthur and Merlin will have to return to Camelot eventually. Merlin's destiny might just be closer than he thinks.
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin)
Series: let this road be mine [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2013514
Comments: 2268
Kudos: 1768





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> whenever i actually get to writing my author's notes i never to know what to actually put in them. damn. anyway this contains a lot of pining, a lot of magical creatures, and two idiots in love who will. get there. just very slowly.
> 
> you don't really need to know anything about this fic, but that uther is dead (woop), arthur is king, and agravaine is lurking around like the castle like a creeper. these two boys are soft but no ones admitting their real feelings. yet. you know the drill.

It’s not Merlin’s first choice on how to spend an evening. 

He knows how everyone else is spending their night. Gwaine will have dragged Leon and Percival to the tavern; ostensibly so they can be his babysitters, but less ostensibly so he can drool over Percival’s biceps.

They may have dragged Arthur along with them as well, but it’s more likely Arthur is tucked up in bed and fast asleep. Bless his (newly appointed) kingly heart.

Either of those options sound better than what Merlin is currently doing, which is trying to subdue a bunch of pixies, that are determinedly throwing rocks at his head. Merlin has never encountered pixies before and, for the record, never wants to again. They are nasty, ugly things, with deadly teeth and even deadlier aim.

They’ve been terrorising anyone who travels through the forest. Merlin had been hoping to deal with it before it came to Arthur’s attention. Arthur has been King for three months now, since Uther passed away in his sleep, and he has enough to worry about. Miniature goblins who want to use Merlin’s forehead as target practice are the least of his concerns. 

Merlin eventually manages to chase the pixies away, hopefully terrifying them enough that they won’t come back. He takes a moment to catch his breath, slumping against a tree. The bark is rough against his back, the moon shining in the sky. 

He gives it a few minutes, before stumbling to his feet. His thigh is throbbing painfully. He’ll have to scrounge up another excuse for his injuries. 

Good thing he’s had practice. 

  
  
  


-

  
  


It’s a really bad bruise.

Merlin frowns at the marked skin, unsure if he’s awed or disgusted. He settles on awe; patches of blue and violet decorate his thigh, as though a painter has flicked his paintbrush and allowed the colours to run. 

Gaius, who has just walked through the door, makes a startled noise. “Merlin! What happened?”

Merlin snorts, tugging his trousers back over his hips. He only pulled them down to get a better look and he’s seen all he wants to. “Sorted out that pixie problem.”

“So it was pixies, as we suspected?”

“Yes,” Merlin concludes bitterly. “But I wish we’d been wrong. They are _ nasty _. I managed to chase them away, but not before they’d used my leg as a punching bag and thrown a pile of rocks at me.”

“Let me see,” Gaius orders, and Merlin pulls down the collar of his shirt. In addition to the bruising on his thigh, his collarbone is littered with marks after the great pixie rock throwing contest. It feels as though there are tiny pockets of pain, throbbing across his neck.

Gaius tuts, unscrewing a vial of awful smelling paste. Merlin shoves it away. “Wait, Gaius! That smells disgusting!”

“Merlin, you look like you’ve been in a fight with three other men and _ lost _.”

“I didn’t lose,” Merlin objects sullenly. “But I’ll admit it was close. How come we’ve never encountered any pixies before? I’ve never seen any in the forests around here.”

“Well, let’s hope we never see any again.” Gaius narrows his eyes, rubbing the paste into Merlin’s neck. Merlin reluctantly lets him do it. “You’ll need to keep your scarf on. The bruises should go down in a few days, but until then you don’t want Arthur to notice.”

“He won’t notice,” Merlin says softly. “He’s got enough on his plate.”

And isn’t that an understatement. 

It’s been six months since Arthur took the castle back from Morgana. Six months since Morgana disappeared with Morgauese, nowhere to be found. And it’s been three months, since Uther Pendragon passed away in his sleep. 

The King hadn’t been the same following Morgana’s betrayal. He’d spent his time gazing out of the window, barely speaking, barely moving. Gwen had tended to him; Arthur had already stepped up to the role of regent and was King in everything but name. 

Uther had been old and heartbroken and one night, he had simply breathed his last and slipped away before dawn. No sabotage, no magic, no pain. Just an old, frail man. 

In an odd way it’s comforting that, whoever you are, the world follows the same laws. People are born. People die. And even the great Uther Pendragon could not deny death when it came to claim him. 

Merlin had thought he’d feel angry that Uther had such a gentle end, would have wanted Uther to suffer, as so many of his victims had but - he didn’t. The young boy who came to Camelot may have felt that way, perhaps, but Merlin isn’t that boy anymore. He is older, wiser. There is no glory in death, no satisfaction. 

Besides, death isn’t something that happens to the person whose gone, it happens to all those left behind. Merlin won’t deny feeling a sense of relief at Uther’s passing, but it still pains him to see the ache in Arthur’s eyes, the way Arthur drew even further in on himself in those first few months. 

The open wound that is Arthur’s heart has healed, some. He has been swept up in ascending the throne, in truly assuming the role of King, in governing his people. The knights draw ever closer to Arthur’s side; in the days following Uther’s death, they closed ranks around him, both a physical guard and a steady presence between Arthur and the eyes of the court. 

Still. The stain grief leaves on a heart is not so easily moved. And now Merlin has more things to worry about. 

Speaking of. Merlin tightens his scarf with a little too much force. “And how is Agravaine?”

Gaius sighs. “Merlin, you’ve been gone for less than an hour.”

“Exactly. Plenty of time for him to skulk around the castle some more. Plan a few murders, plot a few - “

“Merlin,” Gaius interrupts. “Agravaine has done nothing so far to warrant your suspicion.”

Merlin waves his hands in the air. “Why is he still here?”

Gaius tuts, setting a bowl of soup in front of him. “You know perfectly well he was invited to attend Uther’s funeral.”

“Yes, invited to the funeral, not to stay forever!”

“Arthur invited him to stay, like I told you,” Gaius chides. “To offer him support and guidance. Arthur is only newly crowned and Agravaine intends to provide him counsel in his first year as King.”

“He doesn’t need counsel, he has me,” Merlin snaps, before catching himself. “And - and you. Obviously. And Leon and Percival and Gwaine, the knights. He doesn’t need anyone else, especially not a greasy haired - “

“Merlin, please eat your food before it goes cold.” Merlin moodily stabs at his stew, taking a big mouthful under Gaius’ watchful eye. “I know you worry about Arthur, but Agravaine is his Uncle. He has been nothing but supportive of his nephew so far.”

“I know.”

“See.”

“It’s terrible.” 

“Merlin!”

“I have absolutely nothing to go on. I can’t say why I don’t trust him, Gaius, but I don’t. I have one of those _ feelings _, and you know they’ve never been wrong before.”

Merlin narrows his eyes, staring at Gaius. “I can tell you don’t like him, either.”

Gaius sniffs. “I’ll admit I don’t appreciation his condescension - “

“He’s a patronising little fu - “

“Merlin, you have to watch your tongue,” Gaius reprimands. “Agravaine is a member of the royal family, whether you like it or not. It’s not that I don’t believe you, it’s that we don’t have any evidence.” At Merlin’s frown, Gaius amends his sentence. “We don’t have any evidence yet.”

“Well, I’m going to get it,’ Merlin says determinedly. “I’m going to find out exactly what Agravaine is up to. And I’m not going to leave Arthur’s side until I do.”

Gaius arches an eyebrow. “So business as usual, then.”

“Business as usual,” Merlin agrees, and eats the rest of his stew in silence. 

  
  


-

  
  


The air is brisk as Merlin crosses the courtyard; it nips at his skin and has him huddling into his jacket. Yuletide has passed but now the cold has really set in, the ground painted in frost beneath his feet.

It’s warmer in Arthur’s chambers and even more so with a hastily whispered spell. The fire flickers happily in the grate and Merlin settles down beside it to polish Arthur’s armour.

He gets lost in the rhythm of it, the comforting smell of steel and polish. Mundane chores such as this are nice sometimes, give him the opportunity to lose himself in his task, try and quiet his brain which always seems to be running a mile a minute. 

Arthur enters his rooms a little while later. His gaze flickers to Merlin’s, unsurprised to find Merlin in his chambers. “That was the worst council meeting I’ve had in weeks.”

“It can’t be as bad as the one where we talked about grain for an hour,” Merlin counters. 

Arthur groans, collapsing into a chair. “I thought we agreed to never speak of that again.”

“That counsellor was very passionate. And very boring.”

“Yes, you falling asleep thirty minutes in was a good indicator of how interesting he was.”

“I didn’t fall asleep,” Merlin lies. “I was resting my eyes.”

Arthur’s head is lent against the back of the chair and he cracks one eye open at that. “I suppose you were resting your feet as well, hm? Given how you ended up on the floor after passing out.”

“You’d pass out if you’d listen to statistics about corn count for half an hour,” Merlin mutters. 

Arthur’s eyes flutter closed again. “I can’t pass out in council meetings, Merlin. I’m the King.”

“I thought being the King meant you could do what you want. That’s the excuse you usually give, anyway.”

Arthur just hums in response. Merlin watches him; the line of Arthur’s neck, the sharp edge of his jaw. Those blond lashes that are fluttered closed, lilac bruises under his eyes betraying his tiredness. 

As if he can tell Merlin is staring, Arthur’s eyes abruptly snap open. Merlin flushes in embarrassment, but Arthur only asks, “Why are you sitting on the floor?”

Merlin gestures to the flames behind him. “It’s warmer.”

Arthur’s gaze darts to the fire. “I noticed how warm it was when I came in. The fire must have been lit for some time. The rest of the castle is like an icebox.“

The fire has been lit for five minutes and Merlin’s magic did the rest. For the second time in this conversation, Merlin lies. “I was in here earlier cleaning your rooms and I lit it then. You know how long it takes for your rooms to heat.”

Arthur grunts noncommittally. Merlin clears his throat. “Then again, it’s not like you’ve ever lit a fire in your life.”

“I haven’t got time to light fires,” Arthur says haughtily. “I’m too busy putting out yours.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, because I’m the troublemaker out of the two of us.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow. “I beg your pardon, Merlin.”

“I’m just saying.” Merlin shrugs. “Whose the one getting ambushed by bandits? Or turning down marriage offers? All those rival kingdoms aren’t starting wars because of me.”

“You’re such a little shit,” Arthur tells him flatly, and Merlin snorts with laughter. He’s one of the few people who gets to see Arthur like this; when Arthur drops the formal mask and relaxes, the tension in his shoulders easing, his edges soft and muted.

“Why was it so bad then?” Merlin asks, holding up one of Arthur’s gauntlets to inspect it. 

“There have been reports of bandits by the northern border,” Arthur sighs. He rubs at his eyes tiredly, letting his head rest in his hands. “Well armed bandits, who are terrorising the nearby villages.”

Merlin finishes the last of the polishing and lets his gaze fall on Arthur again. “Are you planning to ride out?”

“We’re expecting further reports tomorrow. The council will decide after that, but it’s likely.”

“Then you need to get some sleep tonight, Sire,” Merlin says cheerfully. “You’ll want to be well rested for such an important council meeting. No dozing off halfway through.”

“That was you,” Arthur grumbles, but he climbs to his feet. Merlin follows suit, collecting the armour into his arms. He deposits it onto the table, but he stumbles and collides painfully with the table edge. Merlin inhales sharply, pain shooting through his bruised thigh.

Arthur had been undressing for bed, but his head snaps up at the sound. “Merlin?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin answers immediately. “Just - just bumped into the table.”

Arthur is holding his sleep shirt, grip loose and clothing forgotten as he frowns at Merlin. “Are you sure?” 

“Yes.” Merlin spreads his hands. “I lost my balance, you of all people know how clumsy I am. What was it you called me the other day? A drunken deer?”

“An inebriated baby horse,” Arthur corrects him. 

Merlin scoffs. “Well, that doesn’t even make any sense.”

Arthur pauses in climbing under the covers to shoot Merlin a dirty look. “Yes, because you’re the expert when it comes to that, aren’t you?”

Merlin is too mature to dignify that with a response, by which he means he throws a pillow at Arthur’s head after blowing out the bedside candle. Irritatingly, Arthur just catches it midair, shoving it under his head and settling down to sleep.

Merlin pauses by the last candle. The room is cradled by shadows; he can just make out the shape of Arthur’s body beneath the sheets. The wick glows softly and for a fleeting, wistful moment, Merlin wishes he could use his magic to put it out.

“Goodnight, Sire,” Merlin murmurs, and blows out the flame. 

“Goodnight, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles sleepily. There’s the sound of sheets rustling as he turns over. Merlin can hear him sigh quietly to himself.

“Get some sleep,” Merlin whispers, then flees before he can say anything else. 

  
  


-

The council meeting the next morning is tense. Frankly, the jail cells have a better atmosphere. And Merlin would know, given the handful of times he’s been thrown into them.

He distracts himself by staring at Agravaine, then glancing away precisely half a second before Agravaine looks up. This has the fun effect of meaning Agravaine looks increasingly unnerved and clearly can’t work out who’s burning holes into his forehead with their eyes.

The best part is, Agravaine will never suspect it’s Merlin, because Merlin is a servant and so below Agravaine’s radar, that it would be unthinkable a peasant would lay eyes on the royal visage. Obviously. 

Arthur clears his throat. “Leon, do you have further information from the northern villages?”

Leon inclines his head. “I do, Sire. They corroborate the initial reports, which detail concerns of a group of bandits robbing and attacking the villagers, as well as any travellers passing through that way.”

“These villages lie right on the border.” A large map has been lain across the table and Arthur uses it to illustrate his point. “Most of the land to the north is uncharted. We’ve rarely had reason to venture beyond the northern borders. It’s wasteland.”

“Rumours of bandits there have been circling for years,” Leon adds. “The terrain is so dense that no one officially rules that part of the land. It’s ideal for thieves and bandits.”

“And magical creatures,” Gaius comments. “Again, much of it is speculation, but there have certainly been some odd rumours to come out of that stretch of land.”

Arthur purses his lips. “The villagers are already vulnerable and they’ll be helpless without our intervention. I don’t like the idea of our northern border being seen as weak, either, just because there is no ruler on the other side to treat with. We don’t want our enemies to think they can infiltrate Camelot by attacking from the north.”

“Your presence in the north would send a clear message, Sire,” Agravaine agrees. Merlin wants to smack that deferential look off his face. His magic swirls unhappily in his blood, a warning. Agravaine isn’t fooling him. “Though if I may, perhaps only reveal yourself once the threat is dealt with? We don’t want to alert the bandits of your approach.”

“I agree and that brings me to my second point.” Arthur gazes at everyone in the room, sombre. “What is said in this room remains confidential. I don’t want gossip to spread. Morgana still hasn’t been found - the northern lands would be a perfect hiding place.”

“You intend to ride out then, Sire?” Leon asks.

Arthur nods. “Life for these villagers is hard enough as it is. They are right on the edge of Camelot’s territory; it’s not like the citadel, trade takes longer, the terrain is more sparse. They will have had the brunt of this winter. They are easy pickings for bandits. I can’t abandon them. Besides, we need to show Camelot is strong on all fronts.”

“We can take this path.” Leon gestures to a line on the map. “We’ll go largely unnoticed, though a smaller group of men would be better if we’re trying to be subtle.”

“We ride tomorrow morning,” Arthur orders, and that’s that.

  
  


-

Merlin wakes early the next morning, yawning as he stumbles out of bed and pulls on his tunic. He has so many things to do before they ride out; all his usual chores for Arthur but also preparing and saddling both their horses for the journey.

Gaius is awake despite the early hour, and has made a bowl of porridge for him. He knows better than to attempt conversation until Merlin’s had at least three spoonfuls; Merlin won’t be coherent enough for conversation until then.

“Best to wrap up warm, Merlin. Where you’re going will be even colder than it is here.”

“I will.” Merlin rubs his eyes blearily. “Gaius, I have a bad feeling about this.”

The way he says it makes him sound like a small child seeking reassurance and he flushes, embarrassed. Gaius only nods his head, however. “I agree.”

Merlin sighs. “You do?”

“The northern lands would be a good hiding place for Morgana. And if this isn’t her doing, then who knows how vicious these bandits are.”

“The perilous lands were beyond the northern border, weren’t they?” Merlin says thoughtfully. “Though we won’t be travelling that far.”

“No, and you’ll take a different route,” Gaius says. “I meant what I said to Arthur, there are many stories of magical beasts lurking in the forests. Few travel there but the ones that do always have an odd tale to return with.”

“I’ll be careful,” Merlin promises tiredly. “I’ll keep an eye on Arthur. And the knights.” 

Gaius doesn’t look any less worried. Merlin doesn’t feel any less worried. Something isn’t right about this. His magic is crawling unhappily under his skin, a dull, foreboding feeling in his chest. 

He says goodbye to Gaius and slopes off to the kitchens to retrieve Arthur’s breakfast. Arthur is already dressed and clear eyed when Merlin sees him. He eats quickly and dons his armour quicker still, before Merlin leaves to ready the horses. 

Even with the other stable hands scurrying around, the stables carve out a small piece of sanctuary. Merlin pauses in the entrance and breathes it in; the smell of hay and horse, sunlight filtering in through the wooden beams and horses nickering softly in the background. 

Arthur’s chosen to ride a large black horse named Apollo. He’s a huge beast, strong and powerful, and infamously hates everyone but Arthur and Merlin. Apollo has a reputation for kicking his bucket of water over and trying to take a bite out of the poor stable hand who has to clean it up. 

Merlin adores him.

“Good boy,” Merlin coos, reaching out to run a palm over Apollo’s neck. Apollo snorts happily, tucking into his bale of hay. 

Tom, the head groom, walks past, arching an eyebrow. “He’s going to bite your hand off.”

“He’d never do that,” Merlin argues. 

Apollo lifts his head, blinking in Tom’s direction. Tom blanches. “Rather you than me.”

“Arthur will be the one riding him, so it’s not my problem.” Merlin unlatches the stable door, heaving the saddle into his arms. Apollo stands obediently as he swings it over his back, well trained as all the palace horses are. 

“We’ve saddled the rest of the horses,” Tom advises. “Had to find one bigger than Apollo for Sir Percival.”

Merlin grins, adjusting Apollo’s bridle. He has to stand on his tiptoes to manage it. “Did you find one?”

“Just,” Tom laughs. “Which horse are you riding today?”

“Thistle,” Merlin says, gesturing to a palomino mare a few stalls down.

“You know that’s not really her name, right?” Tom asks. 

“I’m aware Arthur’s named her something double-barrelled and pompous.” Merlin shrugs. “But I can’t remember or pronounce it.”

Tom shakes his head. “I’ll get her ready for you, you’ve got your hands full with that one.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says, genuinely grateful, and Tom just waves him off, giving Apollo a wide berth as he crosses to the mare’s stall. 

Some of the servants in the castle are a bit funny with him: Merlin doesn’t really _ act _like a servant, doesn’t bow and scrape to Arthur as he should do, and it’s noticeable. There’s also the case of him being promoted to manservant of the prince with no training, no experience and no prior position within the household. Merlin did save Arthur’s life but it’s still a bit of a slap in the face to those who spent their whole life training for the role. 

It doesn’t help that Merlin pretty much behaves how he wants around Arthur, and vice versa. It’s not - _ proper _, in the eyes of many. It’s just another way that Merlin doesn’t quite fit in. 

Still, it’s better now. Most of the servants are used to him and no longer treat him like a stray dog. Merlin has more than proved his loyalty and that’s what matters. 

The servants who work in the stables have never had an issue with him. Possibly because they don’t spend as much time within the castle itself, but more likely because Merlin is good with horses. Most animals like him, seem to settle in his presence. 

Merlin is jolted from his daydreams by Apollo nudging his shoulder with his huge head. He huffs in Merlin’s ear and Merlin threads a hand through his mane. “Sorry, you’re right. We better get a move on.”

He tries to hand Apollo off to one of the servants to take to Arthur, but the poor boy looks as though he’s going to wet himself. Merlin sighs. “Look, I know he looks - big. But he’s a sweetheart really, honestly.”

The boy’s face has turned white. “Last week he bit Sam’s ear.”

Merlin hesitates. “Like, bit it off or - “ The boy blanches. Merlin sighs. “Fine, Give me Thistle, I’ll just have to lead both of them out.”

The boy thrusts Thistle’s rein into his hands, with a squeaky, “Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it,” Merlin mutters. It’s a bit of a pain to lead two horses at once, but if he takes them one at a time then Arthur will just moan about being late. 

Neither of the horses are any trouble in the end; Apollo is on his best behaviour, despite the suspicious looks Merlin sends his way. The courtyard is bustling with movement; Percival is mounting his own ride. Leon and Arthur are speaking quietly, heads bent together.

Leon looks as deadpan as ever but he must have retrieved a sense of humour from somewhere, because Arthur throws his head back and laughs. Merlin feels himself smile in response; in that moment Arthur looks achingly carefree. 

Someone slings an around Merlin’s neck, making him jump in surprise. “Daydreaming are we, Merlin?”

Merlin sighs. “Hello, Gwaine.”

Gwaine grins at him cockily, before his eyes slide to Apollo. “Of course you’re bringing the demon horse.”

“He’s not a demon horse,” Merlin says indignantly. “Besides, where we’re going, we might need him.”

Gwaine hums. “Another great brute with a bad temper can’t hurt. Speaking of, are you done making doe eyes at the King?”

Merlin scowls at him. “I am not making doe eyes at _ anyone _\- “

“Sure,” Gwaine scoffs. “And he doesn’t look at you like you’ve hung the moon.”

“No one is looking at anyone,” Merlin hisses, face turning red. “I don’t - we don’t - “

“Sure,” Gwaine interrupts. “How are you going to ride with your eyes shut?”

“What?”

“Well, you said no one is looking at anyone, so how are you - “

“Piss off, Gwaine,” Merlin snaps, and Gwaine bursts into laughter. Merlin knocks his shoulder into Gwaine’s in irritation. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, so just - shut up.”

“Are you blushing?” Gwaine asks with interest, and that’s the last straw.

Merlin glares at him as he storms off, horses trotting along behind him. He doesn’t have any hands free otherwise he’d flip Gwaine off over his shoulder. He has to settle for stomping as far away from Gwaine as possible. 

Arthur takes one look at his face and frowns. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” Merlin grumbles, shoving Apollo’s reins into Arthur’s hand. Their fingers brush and Merlin decidedly doesn’t swoon like a love struck fool. “Just Gwaine acting like an ass, as usual.”

“Sadly unsurprising.” Arthur tilts his head. “Do you want me to knock some sense into him?”

“I don’t think a hurricane could knock some sense into him,” Merlin mutters, and Leon makes a small noise of amusement. It cheers Merlin up a little.

Arthur hoists himself up into his saddle. “I’m afraid you’re right.”

“Well, that’s one for the books,” Merlin teases, climbing onto his own horse. “You admitting I’m right. Wonders never cease.”

“I suppose it had to happen some time,” Arthur sighs, and he sounds so fond that Merlin can’t help smiling, their eyes meeting for a brief moment. “Come on, we need to move out.”

Merlin nudges his mare gently. “Let’s go, Thistle.”

“Thistle?” Arthur repeats. “Merlin, her name is - “

“Arthur, I don’t care what fancy pants name you gave her,” Merlin interrupts. “It’s a horse, Arthur. Not the firstborn child of a reigning monarch.”

“Merlin, you’re being ridiculous,” Arthur sputters, which means he doesn’t have a comeback.

“The horse doesn’t know what her name is,” Merlin reasons. “So it’s all irrelevant anyway.”

Arthur shoves Merlin‘s shoulder playfully, only Arthur has several pounds on him and like. Ten times the muscles mass, so Merlin almost topples off his horse. He lifts his hand to push Arthur off his own damn mount, when Leon clears his throat. “Sire.”

Merlin slaps Arthur’s bicep really quick. Arthur retaliates by messing up Merlin’s hair, all while keeping eye contact with Leon and looking very serious. “We need to set a good pace, the journey will take us the best part of a day. We’ll break in a few hours. Keep up, everyone.”

Arthur gives Merlin’s hair one last ruffle, before urging Apollo on. Merlin takes a moment to straighten himself up, then follows after him. 

There’s no way he’s going to ride at the back with Gwaine. Leon’s pensive gaze is more than a fair trade if it means he avoids Gwaine’s chattering. 

  
  


-

The further they travel, the colder it gets. Frost shines on the tree branches, their breath curling in front of them like smoke. Arthur calls them to a halt a few hours in; Merlin is grateful for the reprieve, slipping off his horse with shaky legs.

Arthur stands there and orders people around, until Merlin comes back from collecting firewood and then he moans at him for a bit.

“Merlin, I can hear your teeth chattering from here,” Arthur snaps. “I have no idea how you’ve survived this long.”

Merlin drops a pile of sticks by the fire. “Says you.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Come here.”

Merlin eyes him suspiciously, but reluctantly trudges over. Arthur curls a hand in Merlin’s collar, frowning. It’s so cold that Merlin’s jacket isn’t enough, and he’s wearing a thick blue cloak. The knights have scrapped their usual crimson ones for dull browns and grey, in the name of being subtle. Merlin thinks it just makes them look like they’re trying too hard, but no one asked his opinion.

Arthur pulls Merlin’s hood up over his head, brow still creased. His knuckles brush against Merlin’s cheek. “Honestly, Merlin, you can’t even wear a cape properly.”

“I’m not even cold,” Merlin lies. In reality, his ears blessedly no longer feel as though they’re falling off.

“Sure,” Arthur says flatly, dropping his hand. He tilts his head. “You’re less irritatingly chatty then usual.”

“Maybe you’re a poor conversationalist.”

“Hm. Maybe.” And then Arthur just stands there, arms crossed.

The problem with Merlin knowing Arthur inside out, is he forgets that Arthur knows him just as intimately by now. And Arthur knows that if he looks at Merlin like _ that _for long enough without saying a word, Merlin will eventually crack under the pressure.

“Fine,” Merlin sighs. “Do you - it’s just - we’re travelling so far from Camelot. The lands beyond the border are swarming with god knows what. It couldn’t be a better set up for an ambush if we tried.”

“And you think it could be an ambush,” Arthur surmises, 

Merlin pulls his cloak tighter around him. “Maybe. We still don’t know where Morgana is. Even if it’s not an ambush and the bandits really are attacking the villagers, if our enemies find out where we are - “

“They may take the opportunity to attack us,” Arthur finishes. “It’s something I’ve considered. But I can’t abandon my people. And only a handful of my most trusted advisers know where we’re going.”

Including Agravaine, Merlin thinks darkly, who I wouldn’t trust to run you a bath. 

He can’t say that, though, not now. Not without any proof. If he ever takes up his suspicions about Agravaine with Arthur, he will have to have hard evidence. It will only turn him away from Merlin if he doesn’t have something tangible, will make Arthur more vulnerable, put him through greater pain.

“I know,” Merlin says instead. “I just have a bad feeling about all of this. We need - you need to be careful, Arthur.”

Arthur nods, expression grave. Merlin can’t bare that look on his face, and he reaches out without thinking. He pulls the hood of Arthur’s own cloak up over his blonde hair, then straightens Arthur’s collar for him. “There. Now you won’t be cold either.”

“I thought you weren’t cold?” Arthur reminds him and Merlin just snorts, pushing Arthur away. 

Arthur walks back over to his men, calling Percival and Gwaine over. Merlin realises that Gwaine has been lent against a tree the entire time, watching their conversation. He waggles his eyebrows at Merlin. Merlin is much too cold for any of Gwaine’s nonsense and goes to tend to the horses for some sensible company. 

  
  


-

  
  


“What about my dogs?”

“Yes.”

“You’ve renamed every one of my hounds?”

“Have you named them something idiotic? If so, then yes.”

Arthur snorts with laughter. He and Arthur are riding at the front of the group, horses trotting along side by side quite happily. “Did you have animals in Ealdor?”

“Yes, Arthur, I had my own stables and a pack of hounds.” Merlin rolls his eyes. “Before coming to Camelot I’d ridden a horse maybe, once? Two times?”

“You wouldn’t know it,” Arthur comments casually, and Merlin can’t help the flush of pleasure at the surprising compliment. “You’re good with them.”

Merlin smiles. “Thank you.”

Arthur leans forward and strokes Apollo’s neck. “Even Apollo likes you.”

“Gwaine called Apollo a demon horse.”

“Gwaine will be living in the stocks for two days once we get home.” 

“And the stable boy refused to lead him out for me.”

“Why?” 

Merlin shrugs. “Apparently he bit someone’s ear.”

Arthur frowns. “Like, bit it off or?”

“That’s what I said!” Merlin exclaims. “But no one would - “

Arthur abruptly grabs hold of Merlin’s arm. “Do you hear that?”

A hush falls over the group. Arthur keeps his grip tight on Merlin, as though he’s anxious about letting go. 

“From the east, Sire,” Leon calls quietly.

Arthur nods, dropping Merlin’s arm to draw his sword. “Get ready.”

“We’re still half an hour from the village,” Gwaine hisses.

“I’ll ask them to bring their map next time,” Arthur snaps, and that’s when bandits burst out of the forest. 

The bandits are vicious. Merlin dodges blow after blow, the sounds of swords clashing ringing in his ears. They’ve heavily armed and worse than that their attacks are confusing - they keep drawing back, forcing the knights to follow, then surging forward.

Merlin’s lungs are heaving, his throat tight, when a shout from Gwaine pierces the air. Merlin watches in horror as Gwaine stumbles, clutching his side.

“Gwaine!” Merlin shouts, running forward. It’s not quick enough and he’s helpless as two bandits quickly take Gwaine by the arms, pulling him away.

“Gwaine!” someone else shouts, and that Arthur's voice. 

It’s all happening too quickly. Arthur’s face is pale, his sword glinting in the sun. He’s too far away, Merlin notes distantly, with a clarity he doesn’t feel. Arthur is too far away and now he’s twisting to meet the blow of another bandits sword. He’s too far away and Gwaine is almost gone from sight - 

Merlin turns and runs. The ground is rocky underfoot and he trips over a root before steadying himself. He hears Arthur shout his name, a desperate sound that carries over the wind. Every step away from him makes his chest ache, but Arthur has Leon and Percival, still has his sword. Merlin couldn’t see Gwaine’s terrified face and not do anything.

It feels like he runs for hours, but it’s scarcely minutes. He rounds a corner to find Gwaine lying on his side, completely still.

It’s enough to freeze him in place, and that’s enough for someone to sneak up behind him and smack him over the head.

  
  


-

  
  


He’s jostled awake, rough hands shaking him.

Merlin gasps, struggling upright. His hands are bound behind his back, the ties cutting into his wrist. He looks around wildly, flinching as his eyes fall on Gwaine’s body. “Gwaine!”

“Shut your mouth,” one of the bandits snarls, but Merlin doesn’t hear him.

Gwaine is curled on his side, his hand pressed to his stomach. His fingers are stained red. Merlin can see the shallow rise and fall of his chest, which is a small relief. 

“Gwaine,” Merlin repeats helplessly. Gwaine’s eyes flicker open, but they’re glazed and unfocused.

There are two bandits standing in the clearing. They’re arguing now, shoving at each other. “The witch said we needed to keep them alive, use them as bait for the King.”

“Yeah, but the other two have been captured,” the second man argues. “We don’t need anymore hostages.”

The witch, Merlin thinks faintly. So this was Morgana’s doing. 

“We definitely don’t need two,” the first man concedes. “But let's keep the skinny one as leverage, just in case.” He walks over to Gwaine, booting him with one foot. “We can put this one out of its’ misery.”

“Leave him alone!” Merlin yells. He twists furiously in his restraints. “Get away from him!”

The first bandit sneers, crossing over to Merlin. He kicks him in the ribs and Merlin wheezes in pain. “I told you to shut your mouth. I’m almost looking forward to what the witch will do to you whilst she waits for your King to arrive.”

“Then you’re going to be sorely disappointed,” Merlin spits. He is trembling now, a mixture of adrenaline and fear. His magic lashes in his chest, like a wave crashing against the shore. “Because we’re not going anywhere with you.”

“One of you certainly isn’t,” the first bandit says nastily. He turns to his friend. “Run him through. He’d probably just die on the journey, anyway.”

The other bandit draws his sword. 

“No, no, no!” Merlin shouts, his stomach lurching. “Gwaine, wake up, Gwaine, please!”

Gwaine stirs, blinking blearily. His voice is hoarse. “It’s okay, Merlin. These bastards aren’t a match for me.”

“I said leave him alone!”

No one is listening to him; the bandit has his sword raised, the second man jeering. Gwaine’s eyes are closed. He may be unconscious, Merlin can’t tell, can’t get to him.

The sword swings and Merlin lets the magic explode out of him. 

There’s no finesses to it, no skill. No time for a whispered spell. Merlin is alight with pain and terror and _ fury _and his magic takes that and unleashes it into the world. A storm had been building in Merlin’s rib-cage and it’s finally free. 

The two men going flying backwards, hitting the ground with a sickening thud. The restraints on Merlin’s wrist break apart as easily a knife sliding through butter. Merlin scrabbles to his feet. “Gwaine?”

Gwaine’s face is waxy. Merlin kneels over him, grasping his chin. “Gwaine, Gwaine, look at me.”

Gwaine blinks slowly. “That was - that was you.”

His throat feels tight. “Don’t talk.”

Gwaine shakes his head slowly. “You have magic.”

Unbidden, a tear spills over his cheek. Merlin dashes at his eyes. “Gwaine, just - just lie still.”

“You know,” Gwaine croaks, struggling upright. “So much - so much makes sense now.”

“Stop talking, Gwaine,” Merlin hisses. He presses his hands over the wound on Gwaine’s side, inhaling at the feel of blood beneath his fingers. Hot. Wet. 

Gwaine is making this awful choking sound; it sounds like a ferret being strangled and it takes Merlin a moment to realise Gwaine is laughing. Merlin stares at him in disbelief, momentarily distracted from the horror around them. “What are - “

“I knew there was something about you,” Gwaine wheezes. “That time in the - in the perilous lands - and with - “

The wound on Gwaine’s side is deep; Merlin’s fingers are already dyed crimson, bile rising in his throat at the sight. He focuses on that, on how he’s going to fix this, rather than the fact Gwaine knows - knows about his magic - knows that - 

“Merlin,” Gwaine wheezes, interrupting the downward spiral of Merlin’s thoughts. “Thank - thank you for saving my life. Sorry I’m going to die on you anyway.”

“You’re not going to die,” Merlin says immediately. “Just - stay still.”

“No, I think this is it for me,” Gwaine continues weakly. “That’s not a paper cut. I just wanted to say - Merlin.” Gwaine’s sweaty palm grasps Merlin’s arm, squeezing tight. “Merlin, look at me. Thank you,”

He’s really crying now, a horrible, snotty mess, his eyes blurred with tears. “Gwaine, will you please shut up?” Merlin begs, and presses down on Gwaine’s wound with all his might.

Gwaine screams. He also flails wildly under Merlin’s hands and elbows Merlin in the chin. It’s quite a feat and it also really fucking hurts. Merlin does his best to dodge Gwaine’s limbs, keeping the pressure steady and letting his eyes glow gold. 

His grasp on his magic is tenuous at best, Merlin’s nerves so jangled by everything that’s gone on. He can’t even think of a spell, just squeezes his eyes shut tight and prays for the best, lets the magic flow out of him.

Finally, he dares open his eyes. Gwaine has fallen silent. Merlin steels himself before peeking at the wound. It certainly looks a lot better; the blood has dried and the gaping wound is now a thin red line. 

“Oh thank god,” Merlin mumbles and sits back on his heels. 

He closes his eyes tiredly. His hands are sticky with dried blood; he can feel it between his palms, under his fingernails. Merlin might throw up. 

A twig breaks in half as someone groans, and Merlin looks over to see Gwaine pushing himself upright. Gwaine’s eyes are wide with shock, hands hovering over his stomach in disbelief.

“Don’t touch it,” Merlin warns tiredly.

Gwaine touches it and promptly vomits all over the floor. 

“I did warn you,” Merlin sighs. He crawls over to Gwaine, rubbing his back. “Come on, I still need to clean it and dress it.”

He guides Gwaine back against a tree, reaching for the supplies in his bag. Gwaine’s cheeks are flushed. “Merlin, you - that was - “

Merlin braces himself. “Yes, I know - “

“That was incredible.”

Merlin pauses. “What?”

Gwaine reaches up and weakly slaps at Merlin’s arm. Merlin flinches, frowning when he realises Gwaine isn’t trying to (ineffectively) beat him to death. He’s being _ playful. _“How long have you been hiding that for, eh?”

Merlin methodically dumps a load of water on Gwaine’s wound. “Please, Gwaine, just let me clean your wound. Then I’ll go. Or I’ll let you - do whatever it is you plan to do.”

“I - I am letting you clean my wound.” Gwaine sounds confused. He has no right to, Merlin thinks a little hysterically. I’m the one who has no idea what’s going on here. “Merlin, I’m - you don’t seriously think I’m going to hurt you?”

His eyes are stinging again. “Magic is outlawed in Camelot.”

“I’m not from Camelot!” Gwaine snaps, and Merlin flinches at the anger in his tone, certain it’s directed at him. “And by my count you’ve saved my life twice. I don’t give a damn about the law.”

He has to concentrate on tying off Gwaine’s bandages, his fingers fumbling with the knot. “There.”

“Merlin,” Gwaine says quietly. “Merlin, listen to me.”

Merlin exhales shakily, finally meeting Gwaine’s eyes. He prepares himself for hatred and revulsion, but to his surprise there’s none of that in Gwaine’s expression.

“I have magic,” Merlin blurts. It’s pretty damn obvious by this point, but Merlin suddenly has the need to say it out loud. “I have - I’ve always had magic.”

“I can see that,” Gwaine says, and Merlin laughs, choked and watery. “You’ve always had it?”

“Since I was a baby,” Merlin admits. “It’s not something I can control. I was born with it.”

“Wow.” Gwaine whistles softly. “And you choose to live in Camelot?”

Merlin shrugs helplessly and Gwaine whistles again. “You know so much is making sense now.”

“This is really not the reaction I was expecting,” Merlin says faintly.

“I’m not saying I’m not shocked!” Gwaine grins. “But on reflection, a lot of things add up. Like the whole quest to the perilous lands. You came out of there without a single scratch. I always wondered why those wyverns just flew away! And the fire in Jarl’s fortress! That was you, wasn’t it?”

Merlin nods cautiously, wincing when Gwaine clasps his shoulder. “Also, you always ride into battle with us, with no armour and you rarely have a sword. I just assumed all those bards were right and love really does make you a fool.”

Merlin clears his throat. “Just to clarify, you’re not going to stab me, are you?”

“Merlin!” Gwaine surges forward and Merlin freezes, preparing for the worst.

But then there are strong arms around him, pulling him close. Merlin lets his head rest on Gwaine’s shoulder, tentative as Gwaine squeezes him tight. “It’s a hug, Merlin. If you’d want to reciprocate and make this less awkward, that would be grand.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Merlin hugs him back cautiously, then, with humour he doesn’t feel, “Bit desperate, mate.”

“Shut up,” Gwaine snorts, pulling away. “Merlin, who else knows?”

“Just Gaius. And my mother, of course. But you and Gaius are the only people in Camelot who know.”

“Arthur doesn’t know?”

“Of course Arthur doesn’t know!”

Gwaine hums thoughtfully. “Why not?”

“Why not?” Merlin splutters. “Because magic is outlawed in Camelot! Arthur has only ever known magic to be evil - his father would have had me executed!”

Gwaine is quiet for once, his face drawn. Merlin shakes his head jerkily. “I know Uther is dead now - but still. I can’t tell him, Gwaine, I can’t. Not now. Not when he needs me more than ever.”

He wipes his face with the sleeve of his jacket. “Even if I did tell him - how would I - I wouldn’t - “ He cuts off, frustrated. “I wouldn’t know where to even begin.”

“Well, your secret is safe with me,” Gwaine swears fiercely. “I don’t pretend to understand magic, but I wasn’t born in this kingdom. I’ve seen stranger things in my travels. As far as I’m concerned, you’ve saved my life twice. And I bet that’s not the first time, hey?”

Merlin smiles sheepishly. “Not even close.”

They sit in silence for a little while, and then Gwaine abruptly punches his shoulder. “Ow, Gwaine!”

Gwaine throws his head back and laughs. “I can’t believe you have magic!”

“Please don’t tell the entire forest,” Merlin hisses. 

“Our Merlin, a sorcerer,” Gwaine continues blithely. “You are very good at keeping secrets.”

“You have no idea,” Merlin sighs. “How’s your bandages?”

“A lot better than bleeding out on the forest floor. Is all magic like that? I’ll be honest, I thought I was done for then _ bam _.” Gaius peers at his bandages curiously. “Suddenly my intestines are back where they should be.”

“You’re disgusting,” Merlin tells him seriously, but Gwaine just cackles.

It’s so strange having someone react to his magic like this. Not with fear, or disgust, but with curiosity. Gratitude. Gwaine is right, he would be long dead by now if Merlin hadn’t intervened. 

Gwaine fits in so well as a knight that Merlin had almost forgotten he wasn’t born in Camelot. He’s travelled around so many places and not all kingdoms have the same view of magic. Besides, Uther was never a friend to Gwaine, either. He had Gwaine thrown from the castle. It’s not like Gwaine would have put any stock in Uther’s rhetoric.

“Hey, Merlin.” Gwaine nudges his shoulder. “Want to tell me what’s going on in that head of yours.”

Merlin picks at a thread on his cloak. “It’s just weird. Someone else knowing.”

“I meant what I said. Your secret is safe with me.”

“I know,” Merlin says, and finds he means it. “But no one else - “ He stops. “Gwaine, the others.” 

“Shit,” Gwaine swears, jumping to his feet. He winces in pain, and Merlin steadies him.

“Careful,” Merlin reprimands. “I’ve done what I can but you still need to get your wounds properly looked over. There’s only so much I can do with a skein of water and some bandages.”

“There’s no time for that,” Gwaine argues, which is hilarious for a man whose skin is turning green. “Where do you think the others are? Why did they take me?”

“They said they needed a hostage. That it was to - to lead Arthur to them.” Merlin thinks hard.”I think they meant to separate us, to take some of us as hostages, knowing Arthur would follow.”

“Because he’s too noble for his own good,” Gwaine sighs. “Anyone who knows Arthur knows he’d launch a one man rescue mission. Why not take Arthur as well?”

“Too much trouble,” Merlin suggests. “The fewer of us there are, the less chance of something going wrong. Or - or this is some part of a sick game. Drawing Arthur out.”

Gwaine narrows his eyes. “And we all know who’d enjoy that.”

“The bandits talked about a witch,” Merlin says tightly. “What if this was Morgana’s plan all along? Bribe the bandits into attacking the villagers, knowing that Arthur would ride out. Then get them to ambush us, split us up and set a trail for Arthur to follow. Who knows what Morgana has in store on the journey.”

“We have to find Arthur.” Gwaine starts forward and Merlin rolls his eyes.

“We have to get you to safety.” Merlin presses a hand to Gwaine’s chest, stopping him in his tracks. “You need to get back to Camelot, back to Gaius. I’ll find Arthur and the others.”

“No, Merlin. You can’t go alone.” Merlin opens his mouth to protest, but Gwaine cuts him off. “Even if you can knock a man out with your mind. You shouldn’t go alone.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I haven’t done this before.”

“How many times?”

“What?”

“How many times?” Gwaine repeats softly. “How many threats have you faced to save Arthur? To save us all? You know, Arthur fusses about how clumsy you are, but how many of those bruises are from accidents?”

Merlin looks down at his feet, drawing his boot through the leaves on the floor. “That’s not why I do it. I don’t do it for - for glory, or for reward.”

“You do it for Arthur,” Gwaine says simply. The surprise must show on Merlin’s face, because Gwaine just smirks at him. “Doe eyes, remember?”

“You’re delirious.”

“Well, a near death experience will do that for you.” Gwaine narrows his eyes. “Hey, just so we’re clear, Arthur owes you everything. If that royal braggart ever finds out about your magic and so much as threatens a hair on your head, I’ll knock him out myself.”

Merlin’s bottom lip trembles. Gwaine looks at him worriedly. “Are you going to cry again?”

“No,” Merlin lies. “I’m having a stressful day.”

“Where’s the demon horse when you need him?” Gwaine mutters, and pulls Merlin into another hug. 

Merlin is just thinking about how all these blood stains are going to be a nightmare to get out, when Gwaine stiffens. His gaze is fixed on something over Merlin’s shoulder. 

“Not interrupting anything, am I?” says Arthur. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The response to this fic has been so lovely, honestly every comment makes me smile so much!
> 
> This chapter it slightly shorter, honestly I just didn't want to force myself to write, cause then like. I won't want to write at all. And I'm happy with how this chapter turned out.
> 
> The chapter number has gone up because surprise surprise these idiots have a lot to work through, and god help me they will get to cute and domestic at SOME POINT. just not yet

“Arthur!” Merlin gasps.

He wiggles out of Gwaine’s grip, stumbling across the clearing. Arthur obviously isn’t expecting Merlin to throw himself at him, but that’s what Merlin does, wrapping his arms around Arthur and burying his face in his neck.

Arthur stumbles a little but he rights himself quickly enough, bringing his hands up to steady him. Strong arms wrap around Merlin’s waist, holding him tightly. “Merlin, you’re covered in blood!”

Merlin pulls back. “It’s okay, none of its mine.”

“That’s less reassuring then you think,” Arthur says slowly. 

“I mean. You probably have a point.” Merlin swallows, feeling suddenly awkward.

He steps away and Arthur’s eyes flit to Gwaine, widening in shock. “Gwaine! I saw you go down, we have to get you help.”

Arthur rushes forward and Merlin feels his stomach flip. Gwaine glances at Merlin for a second before smiling at Arthur widely. “Ah, it looked worse than it was. Merlin patched me up.”

Gwaine’s tunic is thick with dried blood; Merlin’s own hands and cloak are covered it in. It’s not a very believable statement. Arthur is staring at Gwaine like he’s worried the blood loss has gone to his head. “You’re both covered in blood.”

“It’s his,” Merlin says quickly, pointing at Gwaine.

Arthur stares at him. “Yes, you said that.”

Merlin clears his throat. “Stomach wounds always bleed a lot. It looks worse than it is, but it’s still bad. He needs to be seen by a real physician.”

“You are a real physician,” Arthur says absently, eyes fixed on Gwaine. “Where is the pain? Can you walk?”

“Stop fussing.” Gwaine bats Arthur’s hands away. “Where’s Leon and Percival?”

“They’re gone,” Arthur grinds out. Guilt surrounds Arthur like a shroud, dark and heavy as it settles on his shoulders. It hurts Merlin to see the way it smothers him. “They knocked me out. When I came to, they had taken them.”

“They managed to take out Percival and Leon?” Gwaine asks incredulously.

“Their sorcerer did, yes,” Arthur sighs, and Merlin freezes. 

“They - they had a sorcerer?”

The skin of Arthur’s temple is a shocking red; it looks painful and it’s clearly going to bruise. It makes Merlin wince just to see it.

Arthur nods grimly. “But it was - odd. I didn’t notice him until the end. He wasn’t there at the start, maybe he was lying in wait - I don’t know. But he knocked them out with a spell. One of the bandits got me - hit me on the head.”

“Arthur, the bandits who took me and Gwaine talked about a witch,” Merlin blurts. “I think it’s Morgana, I think that’s why she’s taken them. To draw you out.”

“Attempted murder would be a lot simpler,” Arthur mutters. “But if she wants her game, she can have it.”

“Arthur, you can’t seriously - “ Merlin begins, but Arthur cuts him off.

“It’s almost dark. We can’t go after Leon and Percival tonight. It’s too dangerous and we wouldn’t be able to see their tracks, anyway. We need to set up camp, make a fire. Gwaine, you need to rest.”

“I said I’m fine,” Gwaine argues, which is when Merlin’s foot connects with his shin. “Ah, ah, some rest would do me wonders actually.”

“I’ll help get you settled,” Merlin offers immediately. “Check your bandages over.”

“I’ll get firewood then,” Arthur says, something odd and hollow in his tone. Merlin twists to see his expression, but Arthur may well be carved from stone. “We shouldn’t camp here though. We need to move closer to the edges of the forest, nearer to the town.”

They move closer to the forest outskirts. Arthur leaves to get firewood and Merlin takes the opportunity to spell out exactly how stupid Gwaine is.

“Stop saying you’re fine,” Merlin hisses. “You’re not meant to be fine, you’re meant to be dead.”

Gwaine scowls at him. “Thanks very much.”

“But you’re not dead,” Merlin continues. “So that means you’re still horribly injured. Which isn’t even a lie, Gwaine, you’re going to have to get those bandages checked. I’m worried about infection.” 

Gwaine waves his hand. It’s only because Merlin has known Gwaine so long that he can see through the bravado. There are shadows beneath Gwaine’s eyes and a sweaty sheen to his forehead.

“I’ll be fine.”

“Yes, all the idiots who died of infection said that too.” Merlin glances over his shoulder furtively. “I don’t think he believes us. Arthur’s not stupid. He’s seen battle wounds before.”

“It’s not like I’m _ not _injured.” 

“Yeah, but it’s not like you’re dead.”

“Will you quit it with that?” Gwaine scowls. “So what are you saying? You’re going to tell His Highness the truth?”

“No!” Merlin snaps. “Of course not, we just need to be more careful.”

Gwaine sighs. “Whatever you say.”

Guilt is an awful feeling; heavy and cloying as it coats his lungs. “Sorry,” he manages. “I’m sorry.”

Gwaine grasps his shoulder gently, frowning in confusion. “Sorry for what?”

Merlin ducks his head. “For - for getting you involved in this. Making you have to lie, too.”

“Merlin,” Gwaine gasps. He places a hand on Merlin’s other shoulder, holding him in place. “Merlin, none of this is your fault. We don’t have to lie about your magic because of you, we have to lie about your magic because of the laws of the land. Laws that are unjust and outdated.”

“Don’t let the King hear you say that,” Merlin sniffs.

“The previous King had me thrown from the castle,” Gwaine says. “Uther would have never allowed me to become a knight. The nobles have their own set of rules, always have. Doesn’t mean they’re right.”

“Sounds like you’ve done a bit of thinking about this.”

“Merlin, I was dying.” Gwaine’s grip tightens on Merlin’s skin. “I could _ feel _it. Never thought all the crap they said about the end was true but - “ He shakes his head. “Well. I’ve been close to death before, but not that close. And if it wasn’t for your magic, I wouldn’t be here to tell the tale.” 

There’s the sound of leaves underfoot and he and Gwaine stop talking abruptly; a twig snaps and they both jerk apart instinctively. It’s only Arthur returning with the firewood, which he dumps on the floor before crouching beside it.

Gwaine is clearly flagging and Merlin helps settle him. He props him up against a tree, cloak covering in place of a blanket. Gwaine drifts off to sleep almost immediately and Merlin joins Arthur by the fire. 

They sit side by side, backs resting against a log. Arthur’s knees are pulled to his chest, chin resting on them. His sword is jammed into the ground, but one hand remains wrapped around the hilt. 

Merlin plonks down beside him. “This is a good fire.”

“Valuable commentary as ever, Merlin,” Arthur replies, but it lacks any of his usual snark. Arthur just sounds tired.

“Shut up,” Merlin says, without any real heat. He crosses his legs, holding his hands out to warm them by the fire.

“He’s not going to manage much longer,” Arthur says quietly. His eyes are fixed on Gwaine, the flames reflected in his gaze. “He needs to get back to Camelot. He can’t continue on.”

“I know,” Merlin admits softly. 

Arthur nods once. “Get some sleep. I’ll take first watch.”

It’s not a suggestion. Merlin gets to his feet. He hesitates for a moment, wanting to touch Arthur’s shoulder, just a brush of fingertips. A reassurance. A reminder Merlin is here.

He doesn’t in the end; too nervous perhaps, too consumed in his own thoughts. Arthur is staring into the fire like it holds the answers to all his questions. They’re both in a bad shape and Merlin’s body aches with tiredness. 

He curls up beside the fire, letting the glow lull him to sleep. 

  
  


-

  
  


Merlin should have expected it, really. 

If life has taught him anything, it’s that when you think things can’t get any worse, someone or something out there is determined to prove you wrong. 

If Arthur Pendragon has taught him anything, it’s that Arthur Pendragon is a painfully noble, self-sacrificing, _ idiot _of a man. 

The morning doesn’t start off that way; Merlin can be forgiven for being lulled into a false sense of security, because Arthur isn’t acting as though he’s going to say something reckless and needlessly stupid.

No, instead Arthur stomps the fire out and saddles Apollo. The bandits had taken the rest of their horses; Apollo had apparently kicked a bandit in the chest then bolted into the forest, only returning when the fight was over. 

Merlin checks Gwaine’s bandages, then helps him to his feet with only a slight stumble.

He’s just steadying Gwaine, when Arthur hands him the reigns. “Here. Take Apollo.”

Merlin blinks. “Right. Uh, take him where?”

He should have been tipped off by Arthur’s sombre expression, but he’s a bit distracted with propping Gwaine up.

Arthur’s mouth pulls into a thin line. “You and Gwaine should take him.”

“Take him to - the river?” Merlin hazards. “It’s okay, I think he had enough to drink this morning.”

Arthur clears his throat. “No, take him back to Camelot.”

“Oh.” Merlin frowns. “I didn’t realise there had been a change in plans. Okay, if you go back to Camelot you can get more knights and - “

“I’m not going back to Camelot,” Arthur says calmly. 

Merlin stares at him in confusion. “Right. Okay. Well if you’ve made your mind up, we can get going - “

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts. Gwaine has gone suspiciously quiet besides him, which should have been another indicator that something isn’t right. “I’m not going back to Camelot. You and Gwaine are.”

It dawns on Merlin, with all the subtlety of a hurricane, what Arthur intends to do. “Excuse me?”

Arthur grips the handle of his sword. “Gwaine is too injured to continue. He needs to be taken back to Camelot.”

Gwaine clears his throat. “Honestly, fellas, I’m not - “

“And _ what _,” Merlin cuts in, tone as sharp as the edge of Arthur’s sword and just as capable of causing people to bleed. “Precisely will you be doing whilst Gwaine and I return to Camelot?”

Arthur sets his jaw. “It’s a day’s ride to Camelot. I can’t leave Percival and Leon that long. They could be dead by then. The trail will only be fresh for so long, if we leave and return with more men, we may never find them again.”

“I’m sorry,” Merlin says, in the tone of someone who is absolutely not apologising for anything whatsoever. “It sounded like you were suggesting you ride off on a rescue mission that will inevitably end in your death, _ on your own _.”

“You don’t know it would end in my death - “

“I’d say the odds are pretty high! Beyond the border, facing bandits and creatures and who knows what. A rescue mission that we know is a trap, I might add! A trap set by Morgana!”

Arthur shakes his head. “I can’t abandon Percival and Leon. I’ve faced worse before.”

“But you don’t have to face it alone,” Merlin snaps. “I’ll come with you!”

“No,” Arthur says stubbornly. “It’s fine, Merlin, really. You can go with Gwaine. I won’t force you to stay.”

Merlin has no idea what’s going on. For once, Arthur is a closed book. His gaze keeps flickering between Gwaine and Merlin, and Merlin doesn’t _ understand. _It feels as though he’s missed a step somewhere, that in his head Arthur is having a completely different conversation.

“I’m coming with you,” Merlin insists. “Gwaine is heading back towards Camelot - he’s within our borders. He’s safe.”

Merlin knows this for certain, because he has every intention of placing a protective spell on Gwaine before he rides back. Arthur doesn’t know this, though, and Merlin doesn’t want his apparent conviction to appear odd, so he quickly continues. 

“You’re not going towards safety, you’re going towards danger! 

Arthur’s composure breaks for a moment. “Merlin, can’t you see - why can’t you - “

He can’t seem to finish the sentence, swearing abruptly and jerking his head to the side.

Gwaine clears his throat. “So, do I get a say in this?”

“_ No, _” Arthur and Merlin snap at the same time. 

Merlin waves his hand in the air. “I don’t understand what the issue is. I’m not letting you go out into the northern lands, to face Morgana, to face everything else, on you own.”

“I thought,” Arthur grits out, eyes wild with some emotion Merlin can’t name. “You’d want to stay with Gwaine.”

It catches him off guard and surprise makes him answer more honestly than he would have. “I want to stay with you.”

Arthur inhales sharply, gazing at Merlin in confusion, a reflection of how Merlin is feeling himself.

“Think you forgot to add no offence there, Merlin - “

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur and Merlin says simultaneously.

“Fine,” Arthur says after a long moment. He is unreadable again, his eyes a wall of steely grey. “Fine.”

“Brilliant,” Merlin grinds out. “Fantastic.”

Arthur scowls at him, before turning to Gwaine. Incredibly, when speaking to Gwaine, Arthur apparently has regained his manners, because he’s perfectly civil.

“Take Apollo and ride for Camelot,” Arthur advises. “You need to get away from here, but as soon as you’re nearer the central villages, you should be fine. You can stop at one of them if you need to. Tell Gaius and my Uncle everything that happened.”

Gwaine looks just as quizzical about Arthur’s personality transplant, but he nods. “I will. Guess this means I’m taking the demon horse?”

Arthur gives his a small smile. “Guess so. Ride safe. I’ll let you two say goodbye.”

And then, because Arthur has apparently lost his mind, Arthur walks over to the other side of the clearing.

“What the hell?” Merlin mutters, glaring at Arthur’s turned back. “I have no idea what's got into him.”

Gwaine looks at him under his lashes, before shrugging. “Maybe the pressure of the crown is finally getting to him.”

“Why is he letting us ‘say goodbye.’ Do you think he believes you’re going to die, too?”

“I still might on this beast,” Gwaine says, flinching when Apollo huffs in his direction. “Merlin, you take care of yourself, okay?” 

“I will,” Merlin promises, then pulls Gwaine into a hug.

Gwaine startles but hugs him back; Merlin hides his face in the crook of Gwaine’s neck and makes sure his eyes are tightly shut as he whispers the spell.

“What was that?” Gwaine asks, when he draws back. 

“Protection spell,” Merlin whispers. “It’s not much, but it’ll help.” 

Gwaine thanks him with so much sincerity in his voice, that it makes Merlin’s eyes sting. “I meant it, Merlin, take care of yourself.”

“I’m not the one who needs to take care,” Merlin mutters, glaring at the back of Arthur’s head. 

Gwaine glances quickly over his shoulder, before taking the reins from Merlin. “Yeah. So glad I’m missing this lover’s quarrel. I’ll see you soon, Merlin, okay?”

“Right,” Merlin replies, not taking his eyes off Arthur, and Gwaine laughs to himself as he rides away. 

  
  


-

  
  


The first thirty minutes of their journey into certain death is _ dire. _

Merlin is so glad that Arthur deigned to let him come along, because he’s having a great time. Truly. He’s really enjoying walking through dense, monster infested forest in complete silence. 

It’s silent for two reasons. Merlin is still thoroughly pissed off at Arthur, so passes the first half hour radiating fury like a cat with its fur on end. His anger isn’t helped by their surroundings; dense, dark forest, which sets his nerves on edge.

Arthur is apparently keeping up the moody and resigned thing, because he isn’t talking either. He just holds his sword tightly and stares into the foliage like a lifeline.

(Which it isn’t. Merlin would just like to point that out. It’s not a lifeline, it’s full of monsters and sorcerers. Arthur can stop giving the trees his puppy eyes.)

It’s dire and it’s boring and it’s just plain wrong. He and Arthur _ always _talk. They’re always bickering, arguing, teasing. Merlin has spent countless hunts laughing with Arthur, swapping stories and reliving shared ones. The best nights are the ones where it’s just him and Arthur by the fireside, or sharing a bed, like they did in Ealdor.

On those nights, the words are easy and free, honest in a way that only candlelight and solitude can instil. 

Merlin keeps up the quiet and the anger until a thought strikes him, distracting him enough to blurt, “Arthur.”

Arthur jolts, turning to him. “Yes? Did you see something?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I just had a thought about Morgana.”

“What is it?”

“I think she’s weak,” Merlin begins slowly. “I get why she’s drawing you out, I do. But - why didn’t she just attack along with the bandits? Why wait for us to go to her? Part of it is for show, sure, but - “

“But you think she can’t come herself,” Arthur says slowly. “That she’s too weak to attack us now, together and on our side of the border. That she needed us to go to her.”

“She was in bad shape when we last saw her,” Merlin continues. “Maybe she’s holed up in - in a castle somewhere, recovering. So she had to get someone to bring us to her.”

“It makes sense,” Arthur admits. “She planned her last attack. If she’s been injured, she’s had more than enough time to scheme this one.”

“She needs the advantage,” Merlin suggests. “She doesn’t have the strength or the power to attack us within Camelot’s walls.”

“But how would she have known we were coming?” Arthur asks, forehead pinched. Merlin feels a pang in his chest; he has a pretty good idea who gave Morgana the heads up. “I still don’t understand why she - why she would do this.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says helplessly. He doesn’t know what to say, doesn’t know what he can say. 

Arthur’s knuckles are tight on the hilt of his sword. “You didn’t see her when she was younger. She was so kind, so caring. And now she’s lying in wait. Ready to kill me.”

Arthur shakes his head, swallowing once before he surges forward into the undergrowth. He moves so quickly that Merlin has to stumble to catch up. “Arthur, wait!”

Arthur ignores him, walking forward quickly. “Arthur!” Merlin calls again, “Are you - woah!”

He trips over a root, yelping in pain when his head knocks against a tree. Arthur turns sharply, eyes widening. “Merlin!”

Merlin touches his head gingerly, wincing. His fingers come away wet; he was walloped by the bandits yesterday and his head is still sore. “Ouch.”

“Merlin,” Arthur sighs. “Let me see. There’s a stream up ahead.”

Arthur wraps a hand around Merlin’s wrist, tugging him forward. His hands are calloused from years of holding a sword and Merlin has to hide his shiver. Arthur pushes him down onto a rock by the water, peering at Merlin.

It’s a little overwhelming having all Arthur’s attention on him. His eyes are clear and blue, and he brings a gentle hand up to grasp Merlin’s chin. “Did you get hit on the head before?”

“Yes, when I was a baby,” Merlin snaps back. “Hilarious, Arthur.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Merlin, that was a genuine question.”

“Oh. Sorry,” Merlin apologises sheepishly. “The bandits hit me yesterday, to knock me out.”

“Seems like a pattern with them.” Arthur scowls, one thumb brushing across Merlin’s forehead. Merlin goes very still. “I think you’ve reopened the old cut.”

Arthur dips a piece of cloth into the river. A black crow lands on the tree overhanging the river, fluffing its feathers and peering at them curiously.

Arthur cleans the cut carefully, Merlin flinching at the cold water. “The trail is still fresh. Either they didn’t cover their tracks, left all the hoof prints and tracks on purpose.”

“Or they used magic,” Merlin finishes dully.

“To make sure we knew where to go,” Arthur agrees grimly. “There. It’s all clean.”

He offers Merlin a hand and pulls him to his feet. The crow squawks as Merlin clambers upright, spreading his wings and soaring away. 

“How far do you think we’ll have to go?” Merlin asks, once they are back on the trail. The tracks are painfully obvious; someone clearly didn’t want them to have to stop for directions. 

“I don’t know,” Arthur shrugs. “If you were a homicidal witch, what would be the optimum travel distance?”

Merlin snorts. “Very, very far.”

“Very, very far it is,” Arthur announces, and he and Merlin share a quick smile. 

“This is further then I’ve ever travelled,” Merlin ponders. “You know, Gaius told me there are lots of strange tales about this land. There’s this one where - “

“Shut up,” Arthur says suddenly.

Merlin pulls to a halt, unable to hide the hurt that flashes across his face. “Arthur, it’s a really important story - “

“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur repeats urgently. 

Merlin glares at him. “You know I preferred it when you weren’t saying anything - “

Arthur moves so quickly that Merlin barely has time to process. He’s shoved against a tree with dizzying speed; his head hits the bark and he inhales in shock. 

His head is still spinning as Arthur’s hand comes up to cover his mouth. His palm is rough against Merlin’s lips and Merlin jerks instinctively. Arthur’s body covers his; his hips pins him against the tree, the line of his body hot and strong and powerful. 

Merlin can’t breathe; his head is spinning as he tries to make sense of what’s happening. 

“Don’t move,” Arthur whispers. His lips brush against Merlin’s ear, his breath hot against Merlin’s neck. Merlin can’t help the small whimper that escapes his mouth; thankfully the sound is muffled by Arthur’s hand.

Merlin brings a hand up to grasp at Arthur’s jacket desperately. He doesn’t feel trapped, doesn’t feel cornered, but there’s something heady about Arthur’s weight on top of him. As though Arthur could do whatever he wants, and something hot curls in his stomach at the thought.

“It’s a griffin,” Arthur breathes. “I don’t think it’s seen us yet.”

Merlin nods to show he’s understood. Arthur is holding completely still, muscles tight as he gazes at something behind Merlin’s shoulder. 

“Don’t move,” Arthur orders softly. “Is your head okay?”

Merlin’s heart is beating in his chest like a jackrabbit. He nods for a second time, fingers tightening in the fabric below them. Achingly slow, he brings his hand up to tug at Arthur’s wrist, the one holding Arthur’s palm over his mouth.

Arthur blinks. He removes his hand, but drops it to Merlin’s waist. His grip is tight, proprietary, and it burns Merlin’s skin like a brand. 

“Is it still there?” Merlin murmurs. 

There’s a terrifying snarl from behind them. 

Arthur’s eyes widen. “Yes, and it’s seen us. Run!”

They hurtle through the forest, the griffin hurtling behind them. Arthur had grabbed his hand to drag him away from the tree, and their hands remain clasped. Honestly, Merlin is absolutely terrified, but there’s a strange adrenaline rush that accompanies running for your life. A laugh bubbles in his throat, hysterical. 

“We can’t keep this up,” Arthur pants, rounding a corner. “We managed to slow it down with that thicket, but it’s going to catch up!”

“Griffins are creatures of magic,” Merlin shouts. He stumbles on a root and Arthur yanks him straight, nearly yanking his arm out of its socket in the process. “Your sword won’t touch it!”

“I know!” Arthur yells. “I remember from last time!”

Merlin stares ahead desperately, scanning for an escape route. He gasps when his eyes fall on something. “Arthur, through there! Through those rocks, it’ll be too big for the griffin to get through!”

“Good idea!” Arthur agrees breathlessly. “But we’ve got to be quick, come on!”

They squeeze through a small break in the rocks. Merlin doesn’t know if it even goes anywhere, if the crack even leads out into a clearing, or goes into a set of caves. Anything is better than becoming a snack for a griffin, so Merlin will take his chances. 

The crevice they wriggle through is tight and Merlin flinches when the stone scrapes against his skin. There’s a terrifying moment with the griffin lunges forward, beak snapping in the air. It’s too small for the griffin to get through, though, and he and Arthur both sigh in relief.

Thankfully, the crevice does open and they stumble out into the open.

Merlin collapses to his knees, chest heaving. He sucks in lungfuls of air, throat aching as his heart pounds. Arthur is in a similar way, crouched over with his hands on his knees. He recovers quicker than Merlin, though, straightening up. “It’s gone. We’re safe, it’s gone.”

“Okay,” Merlin says faintly. “Great. Good. I just - I just need a minute.”

He flops down onto his back, sprawled out flat and closing his eyes. There’s a snort of amusement beside him, but Merlin ignores it in favour of prioritising how breathe. 

“This isn’t the best place to have a nap, Merlin,” Arthur chides, but Merlin can hear how laughter colours his tone. “Who knows how many creatures like that are out here.”

“Not napping,” Merlin wheezes. “Just - breathing. Fighting off a heart attack. Trying to ignore your last sentence and the implication we are anything but safe and relaxed.”

Arthur nudges his side gently with his boot. When that doesn’t work, he crouches over Merlin and pokes his cheek. “Come on. You couldn’t look more like griffin fodder if you tried.”

Merlin cracks an eye open to give him a dirty look. “Did you just kick me?”

“Think of it as friendly nudge.” Arthur ruffles his hair. “Up, Merlin.”

“I’m not a dog,” Merlin says reproachfully, but he stands up.

“No,” Arthur agrees. “You’re not. My dogs are far better trained and less chatty.”

Merlin shrugs. “Pretend all you like, I know you like me the way I am.”

“Sure,” Arthur drawls, and Merlin shoves him in the arm. “We need to find a way around these rocks.”

“We’re going back towards the thing that wants to kill us?” Merlin asks incredulously. 

“We’re going back towards the tracks,” Arthur corrects. “The griffin threw us of course, we have to get back to the trail.”

“Oh. Right.”

Merlin bites his lip. He knows he could use his magic to find the way, a safer way; it wouldn’t even be hard, it’s something he’s done before. But they’re not in Camelot, now. Merlin can’t pretend he knows the woods and all the paths. He doesn’t think the excuse that he just ‘has an instinct,’ is going to go down well in the middle of nowhere, either.

“Let’s go then,” Merlin agrees finally, trying to sound less reluctant than he feels. 

He must do a poor job, because Arthur eyes him strangely. “Glad to have your permission.”

“Come on.” Merlin starts off towards the rocks. “Lots of ground to cover.”

“Right.” Arthur clears his throat. “Merlin, is everything okay? Does your head hurt?”

Merlin uses climbing over a fallen tree as a chance to stall. He needs to think of an excuse, one more plausible and less likely to get him executed than: I can’t use my magic in the open and it makes keeping everyone alive so much more difficult.

What Merlin comes up with is, “I was just wondering how Gwaine is getting on.”

Arthur hacks at a vine with his sword. “You’re worried about him.”

Merlin frowns at the odd comment. He tries to catch Arthur’s eye, but he is viciously murdering a berry bush. “Of - of course I am.”

When Arthur doesn’t respond, Merlin presses, “Aren’t you?”

Arthur sighs, sheathing his sword. He turns to Merlin, gaze sincere. “I’m sure he’ll be fine. Apollo will carry him back to Camelot. Try not to worry too much.”

“Um, right,” Merlin nods. 

It’s not that Merlin is completely cold hearted, but he hasn’t had a thought to spare Gwaine in between head wounds and running for his life. Gwaine is pretty low on his priority list right now, (sorry, Gwaine). He doesn’t get why Arthur is being so weird about it. 

Arthur claps his shoulder in a totally conciliatory gesture. It’s the same shoulder clap he gives the knights when something bad and or devastating happens, like the time Leon lost his favourite sword in battle. Merlin stares at his shoulder like its about to catch fire. Arthur draws his sword again as he walks away, climbing over the fallen tree with ease.

Merlin watches him go, jaw open. He feels off kilter and, for once, it has nothing to do with the magical beasts that just tried to kill them. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hope people enjoyed this chapter, as ever hearing people's thoughts is the BEST
> 
> you ever think about how we didn't really get arthur dealing with morgana's betrayal.... like i may be wrong cause i can't remember all the eps and i know he does speak to morgana bout it - like when she took over camelot - but like? morgana came to camelot when she was 10, they grew up together! And this isnt a morgana defence post or anything, it's more a - arthur didnt get to deal with half the shit he should have got to - in the show, so we going to deal with it in this story. 
> 
> while were on the topic - arthur never talked about his mother again after the ep with morgauese? we never really delve into that again? its just a loose plot point i dont think its even confirmed with arthur that magic *was* the cause of his birth, because merlin tells him its a lie and thats the end of it 
> 
> look arthur didnt get half the character development he deserved and you can fight me on that. not that i didnt like the show - cause i really did - but it just makes me mad
> 
> catch me ranting about arthur pendragon in an end chapter case note lmao 
> 
> other fun random things to add, i know where this fic is going - planned it for once! - so im so excited, but i also started thinking about a soulmate merthur au and all i can say is. one day. one day when you've finished writing this now 13 chapter fic fck 
> 
> anyway hope you enjoyed this one!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your patience with this chapter! I struggled to get going with it, but actually quite liked how it turned out. I have upped the chapter count (again), because I think this fic is going to be shorter chapters, but more of them.

Turns out, finding their way back to the trail is harder than they thought. And Merlin didn’t have very high hopes for getting back on course in the first place. 

Neither of them dare go back through the gaps in the rocks, in case the griffin is still lurking on the other side. Instead they walk the long away around the rocks that jut out into the air. Arthur seems to have a vague idea that if they loop all the way around, they’ll be able to get back to where they started. 

Merlin isn’t so sure and it doesn’t help that the awkwardness between them appears to be back. Ever since Merlin mentioned Gwaine, Arthur has been quiet and focused. He’s not angry - Merlin can tell when Arthur’s in a temper, so it’s not that. Worry, maybe. 

They trudge on. Arthur’s shoulders seem to dip under more and more weight, as the landscape becomes indistinguishable.

“Arthur,” Merlin tries tentatively, after the fiftieth identical tree. 

Arthur grunts. Merlin will take it. “Perhaps we could find the river again.”

Arthur frowns at him. “What do you mean?”

“We were near the stream when the griffin chased us away,” Merlin reminds him. “If we can find the stream, we can follow it back to where we started.”

“That’s not a totally stupid suggestion,” Arthur mumbles. “Okay. Do you remember the direction of the stream?”

“Uh.” Merlin looks around, which in hindsight is useless, because he’s never been here before and one tree looks much like the other, in all honesty. “Not really. Do you?”

To his surprise, Arthur meets his gaze for a second before a light flush crosses his cheeks. “I - no. I can’t.”

“Oh.”

“I was a bit distracted,” Arthur blurts, then makes a face like he’s swallowed a lemon.

“Uh, right,” Merlin agrees. “Running for your life does take your mind off things.”

“Right,” Arthur agrees hastily, “I think it’s this way.” 

“He just said he didn’t know,” Merlin says in disbelief, apparently talking to the air now, as Arthur has already stalked off.

Merlin makes to follow after him, but something catches his eyes. Something large, and black, but when he looks, there’s nothing there.

The hairs on the back of his neck have stood up; his magic flares in his veins.

“Let’s go, Merlin,” Arthur calls. “You don’t want to get left behind.”

Merlin narrows his eyes, staring out into the forest. There’s something - off, about this place.

“Merlin.” This time his tone isn’t impatient, it’s questioning. “What is it? Did you see something?”

“I don’t - “ Merlin tilts his head to one side. “I’m not sure.”

Arthur walks over to him, hovering by his shoulder and trying to see what Merlin is looking at. “More bandits? Another griffin? _What_, Merlin?”

Merlin finally drags his eyes away. “I don’t know. I just have one of those - “

“Feelings?” Arthur finishes for him. “I know. This forest - I feel like we’re constantly being watched.”

“By who?” 

Arthur’s mouth pulls into a tight line. “No, Merlin. The question is by _ what. _”

He and Arthur trudge on, but there’s no sign of the stream. Arthur is growing more and more tense. Merlin wants to say something, to break the tension, to comfort Arthur, to comfort himself. Anything to break the silence that smothers this forest.

“Do you think she’ll kill them if we don’t show?” Arthur asks abruptly.

Merlin jerks to a halt, startled. “Arthur - “

“If we don’t find the path,” Arthur continues quietly. “What if Morgana thinks we’re not coming? And she kills Leon and Percival for it.”

“Arthur.” Merlin stares at him in horror. “We will find the way. The stream has to be around here somewhere. We will find it, we just - “

Arthur cuts in. “I shouldn’t have brought you with me.”

Merlin recoils, hurt. “You don’t want me here?”

For the first time, Arthur looks at him, eyes going wide. “No! Yes, I mean - “ Arthur gestures to Merlin’s forehead. “You’re already been hurt, Gwaine too. Leon and Percival are in Morgana’s clutches, how many more people I l - “

“Arthur!” Merlin snaps, grabbing Arthur’s arm. “We’re going to get them back, okay? I swear it.”

Arthur takes a deep, heaving breath. He pulls his arm out of Merlin’s grip, but he’s gentle about it. After a moment, he sighs. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“For what?” Merlin nudges him gently. “All I’ve done so far is get a head injury.”

It’s the wrong thing to joke about, because Arthur’s face closes up. “Don’t jest about that. I should have sent you back with Gwaine, to be tended to by Gaius.”

“You did try to send me back,” Merlin points out. “I didn’t listen to you, remember?”

Arthur looks inexplicably floored by that, gazing at him. Merlin blinks back, opening his mouth to question it, when his stomach growls loudly.

He flushes and all the tension dissipates like it was never there. “Sorry, I’m hungry.”

Arthur laughs good naturedly. “It’s okay, so am I. I doubt we’ll be able to rustle up deer, but perhaps a rabbit - “

A twig snaps behind them. Arthur turns instinctively; his arm comes up and Merlin finds himself roughly shoved behind Arthur. 

“Arthur,” Merlin hisses, but Arthur shushes him, palm pressed against Merlin’s stomach. 

There’s another crack, then something steps into the clearing. 

Merlin’s reaction to the creature entering the path is so visceral, he nearly chokes on it. It feels like the air before a storm; the air edged with heat, the promise of lightning humming in the atmosphere. Whatever this creature is, it has magic, and it’s old.

It appears, for all intents and purposes, to be a rabbit.

A hare actually, on second glance. A sleek, black hare. Its fur is the colour of coal, intelligent dark eyes turning in their direction. 

Merlin fists a hand in the back of Arthur’s cloak. “What is that?”

“A hare, Merlin. Like a very large rabbit.” The patronising tone would be more convincing if Arthur wasn’t frozen in place. 

The hare scents the air, ears twitching. After a moment, it moves. Arthur and Merlin both inhale sharply, but all it does is scamper away, disappearing into the bushes. 

Once the hare is out of sight, Arthur lets out a relieved sigh, turning to Merlin. “See, Merlin. It was just a big rabbit. Nothing to be frightened of.”

“You were frightened, too,” Merlin snaps, shoving Arthur’s shoulder. “And I don’t think that was just a rabbit.”

“Because it’s a _ hare _.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Merlin scowls. 

Arthur shrugs. “It’s gone now, what does it matter?”

Something moves behind Arthur’s shoulder. 

Merlin’s eyes widen. “You just had to jinx it, didn’t you?”

Arthur turns abruptly, gasping at the sight in front of them. This time, it isn’t a rabbit.

The trees in front of them are sprawling and vast, curling towards the sky. Perched on one of their low hanging branches, is a man.

Merlin uses the term ‘man’ loosely, and he wouldn’t use the word human at all.

His skin is the colour of fresh snow, with dark, expressive eyes and riot of jet black curls. There is something distinctly _ inhuman _about him; the sharp curve of his lips, perhaps, or the high cut of his cheekbones. 

He watches them curiously, hands curled around the tree branch, bare feet dangling. 

Arthur is the first to speak. He is holding himself very still, one hand resting on his sword hilt. “Who are you?”

The man tilts his head to one side. “I thought a King would ask wiser questions.”

Merlin swallows. The man leans forward and eyes them with interest; it reminds Merlin eerily of a hawk contemplating its prey down below. “And what would be a wise question to ask?”

The man drums his fingers against the wood. “Some questions have answers, some do not. The question isn’t who, but what.”

“What is this?” Arthur mutters, fingers twitching at his sword belt. “How did he get there? We only turned our back for a moment.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. “What are you?” The creatures head snaps up at that.

“Merlin, what are you doing?” Arthur hisses.

Merlin ignores him, stepping forward so he and Arthur are shoulder to shoulder. “That’s the right question, isn’t it? Not who are you. What are you?”

The creature looks at Merlin in delight. “I have many names.” He bares sharp, bright teeth, a grin or a snarl, Merlin can’t tell. “As do you.”

Right. Great. Merlin isn’t touching that with a ten foot pole.

Merlin moves to step forward, but Arthur hand shoots out to catch his wrist. “Merlin! Don’t get any closer!”

The tension rolls off Arthur; he’s pulled as taught as a bow string. He hasn’t drawn his sword yet, which is something, but it’s only a matter of time.

“Arthur.” Merlin places his own hand over the one circling his wrist. Arthur glances down at their joined hands, eyes steely. “I think I know what - he is.”

“So do I,” Arthur hisses. “A creature of magic. One that apparently composes poetry, before it kills you.”

“He’s not going to kill us,” Merlin whispers. “I mean. I don’t think he will. I’m pretty certain.”

Arthur gapes at him. “You’re _ pretty certain _.”

“He doesn’t mean us any harm!” Merlin insists. 

Arthur shakes his head. “Merlin, how could you possibly know that, think of all the times - “

“Not everything with magic wants to kill you!” Merlin snaps.

Arthur’s eyes widen at that, mouth pulling into a thin line. “We were just attacked by a horse with a bird’s head.” 

Merlin can feel the flush rising in his cheeks. “What about the unicorn? That creature never hurt you, but look what happened when you hurt it.”

Arthur stares at him for a long moment. He’s clenching his jaw so tightly, Merlin half expects to hear a tooth crack.

“Fine.” Arthur drops Merlin’s wrist abruptly. “I don’t know why you’re so hell bent on this, but I’ll get that out of you later.” 

“I’m not - “ Merlin protests, but Arthur cuts him off.

Arthur jerks his head towards the man in the tree. “Not now. What do we need to do?”

“Don’t tell him your name,” Merlin answers quickly. “He might give you a name to call him, but it won’t be a real one. Apart from that, be polite.”

“Be polite?” 

“Yes.” Merlin sighs at Arthur’s look of disbelief. “And don’t eat anything he gives you. He doesn’t mean us harm, but that won’t rule out a bit of mischief.”“This is utterly ridiculous.” Arthur huffs. “If this doesn’t work, Merlin - “

“Then we’ll do it your way.” Merlin scowls. “You can wrestle him to death when he starts rhyming.”

He knows he’s pushing it, can feel both of them toeing the line. Neither of them are their usual selves, too unsettled by this forest, too rattled by Leon and Percival’s kidnap. Merlin can’t help the surge of protectiveness he feels towards this odd creature. It’s a little too close to home, muddying his responses. 

Arthur’s eyes flash with anger, and he turns away sharply. His eyes fall on the man. The man, who apparently found a bunch of berries from somewhere. He has a handful of them in his cupped palm, popping them into his mouth as he watches Merlin and Arthur with rapt attention.

Merlin watches in astonishment as Arthur grits his teeth, and then bows to the man. It’s a motion Merlin has seen Arthur make a hundred times, to courtiers, to monarchs, to members of the court. 

Arthur, Merlin realises with a pang, is being polite.

It delights the man no end. He laughs in amusement, the sound odd and lilting. “What charming manners. Of course, we haven’t been properly introduced.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “No. We haven’t.”

Red lips curve into a wide smile. “Hm. The thistles are dense here.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow, but Merlin takes the cue for what he hopes it is. “Then may we call you that?”

“Perhaps,” the freshly named Thistle hums, and Merlin feels himself relax a little. “I have heard your name whispered through this land.”

“Then you won’t need me to repeat it,” Merlin says firmly. 

Thistle hums again, popping the last berry into his mouth and chewing slowly. “Do you wish to die painfully?”

“Right now?” Arthur mutters. 

Merlin digs his elbow into Arthur’s ribs. “Not today.”

Thistle sucks berry juice off his thumb. “I thought not, but I had to ask. Mortals are very strange.”

In the corner of his eye, Merlin can see Arthur biting his cheek in an effort not to reply to that.

“We would rather not die today,” Merlin continues hastily, before Arthur’s self restraint gives out. “But we are lost.”

“Do you know where you wish to go?”

“We need to find our friends,” Arthur replies steadily. His voice is clear as he speaks, hands clasped behind his back. 

Thistle tilts his head to one side; it’s a strangely feline movement. “Death in front. Death behind. And three lost knights yet to find.”

“Two,” Arthur corrects patiently, in the tone he uses when Geoffery is ‘only mentioning, Sire, only bringing your attention to’ the renovations needed for the library for the fiftieth time. “Two knights.”

Abruptly, Thistle changes position. He flips so he’s hanging upside down from the tree, legs hooked over the branch. He peers at them from his new position, like a little child dangling from a fence.

“Only two of my men - “ Arthur pinches his nose. “Merlin. Merlin, what is it doing?”

“Thistle, not ‘it.’”

“You said don’t give out names!”

“I know, but it’s not - look, I’ll explain later,” Merlin hisses. 

Arthur decides to ignore him and tackle the matter with all the sensitivity of a hurricane. “Thistle. What are you doing?”

Thistle shrugs. How he manages to do that whilst hanging upside down, Merlin will truly never know. “The path is clearer from here.”

“Great,” Arthur says. “It’s okay, Merlin. We’ll find Morgana, we’ll just travel the rest of the way by handstand.”

Thistle rights himself, pulling himself up and settling back on the branch. Perhaps the vein in Arthur’s forehead won’t explode after all. 

Once he’s righted himself, Thistle’s demeanour changes in the space of a heartbeat. All the humour is gone from his face, the levity in his eyes replaced by an unnerving stare. Both Arthur and Merlin feel the change in atmosphere immediately, Arthur straightening instinctively. 

“The witch will kill your friends, little King.” It’s said simply, an honest truth that rings through the glade. “You do not have much time. If you wish to escape this forest, you would do well to listen to my words.”

Arthur closes his eyes briefly. “Please.”

Thistle eyes him contemplatively. His gaze slides to Merlin. Merlin wishes he could tell what he sees there, but the man is unreadable. “Very well. Hear my voice, and hear it clear. Stay in the forest and your deaths are near. Defeating you foe will be no easy task, but to find your way, you should only ask.”

“You should only ask,” Arthur repeats softly. “Ask you? That’s all we need to do? Ask you the way?”

Thistle laughs. He sketches a mocking bow, ducking his eye and looking up under his lashes. “We all have our roles to play, little King. And this is mine.”

Arthur glances at Merlin, who nods encouragingly. “Can you - _ will _you show us the way to our friends?”

“You’re learning,” Thistle says approvingly. “Can humans breathe underwater?”

“Er, no,” Arthur says politely. “We - we can’t do that.”

“I always forget,” Thistle shrugs. “So you’ll need a boat.”

“That would be preferable,” Arthur agrees gracefully. “I take it we are to travel over water, then?”

“It’s the quickest way and you don’t have much time left.” Thistle purses his lips. “You are far too talkative.”

Arthur bites his bottom lip. “I’ll try to work on that.”

Thistle bursts into delighted laughter, kicking his legs back and forth. “I jest, little King. But as you have put aside your pride, I will ensure you arrive unscathed.”

“Was - was that not the plan anyway?” Arthur asks slowly. Thistle laughs again, and Arthur turns large eyes to Merlin. “Merlin, he just said - “

Merlin pats his arm. “Let’s just - let’s just get this over with.”

Arthur wisely closely his mouth. 

Thistle claps his hands. “Now, If you would?” 

He makes a gesture and Arthur frowns. “Why do you want us to turn around?”

Thistle clicks his tongue and Merlin grabs Arthur’s arm. “Let’s just do what he says.”

“Fine,” Arthur sighs. He turns around obediently, crossing his arms.

Merlin does the same. He gaps a few seconds later, when a rush of magic flows through the clearing. It’s like a warm breeze, dancing around them almost playfully, Merlin’s magic jumping in response. 

His eyes snap to Arthur, inhaling quietly when he realises Arthur can feel it too. Arthur’s eyes are wide and he lifts his hands in astonishment. Dancing over Arthur’s fingers are a collection of silver sparks. 

Arthur flinches, staring at Merlin. “What - what is it?”

“Magic,” Merlin replies softly. Merlin’s own palms look the same, a trail of glowing sparks. “They’re already fading, look.”

The sparks dissipate as quickly as they came. Arthur inspects his hands within an inch, brow crinkling when there are no visible marks. Merlin feels something pang in his chest, and he has to look away so Arthur can’t read the expression on his face.

A single bark rings through the clearing. 

Arthur and Merlin turn instinctively. Sat in front of them, looking way too satisfied with itself, is a large black dog. It’s the size of one of Arthur’s wolfhounds, shaggy black fur, head cocked to one side and tail thumping against the forest floor. 

The only thing that makes it stand out, would be the glowing blue eyes. That, and the tiny curled horns nestled into the fur on its head. 

Merlin moves forward, but to his surprise, Arthur is quicker. Before Merlin can stop him, Arthur crouches down on one knee. He doesn’t say anything, just stares at the dog in concentration. 

Merlin feels frozen in place, eyes wide as the hound stalks closer. In this form, the creature’s teeth are sharp, flashing white as he bares them lazily. The light is dappled as it passes through the trees, the moment suspended in time. Everything about this creature is unnatural; the power in his limbs, the easiness in his gait, the cut of his teeth. This is his domain and Arthur is merely a guest.

The hound is eye to eye with Arthur now. Merlin’s heart is caught in his throat. 

Very quietly, Arthur says, “And you said I talked too much.”

Oh shit, Merlin thinks, Arthur’s going to get his throat ripped out.

There’s an achingly long second, where Merlin is convinced this is it, then the spell breaks and everything happens at once, Thistle, because it is Thistle, just in a different shape, barks in a way that sounds eerily like a laugh. Merlin would very much like to never hear anything like that again. 

Thistle also throws himself at Arthur, slobbering in a truly disgusting way over Arthur’s cheek. Arthur pats Thistle gingerly, and avoids the horns like they’re a grenade about to go off. 

Merlin is frozen in shock as Arthur clambers to his feet, awkwardly untangling his cloak from Thistle’s jaws. “Come along, Merlin. We need to get to this boat.”

Merlin watches, slack jawed, as Thistle bounds off into the brush. Arthur straightens his cloak with dignity, setting his shoulders. “Put your tongue back in your mouth, Merlin. We’ve got things to do.”

“Arthur,” Merlin manages. “You know - you know that - “

“That the insane man who lives in a tree can turn into a dog?” Arthur finishes coolly. “Yes, I’d gathered that. And that hare as well, I’d wager.”

Merlin swallows. “And you’re - you’re okay with that?”

Arthur fixes him with a look so scathing, Merlin is surprised he doesn’t go up in flames. “Merlin, what exactly do you think our options are here?”

Merlin stutters. “I - I just - do - do you - “

“I’ll tell you what they are,” Arthur continues, with the same edge of ice in his tone. “We follow the demon dog boy, and hope he leads us to my men. Or we stay here, never find our way out of this forest, and die of either exposure, or being eaten by a griffin.”

Thistle comes thundering back into the clearing. He pads over to Arthur, dropping something at his feet. On inspection, it appears to be a bird skull. Completely clean, nothing but white bone. 

Arthur acts as though he’s receiving a gift from any other visiting noble. “Thank you, Thistle. Merlin, you either come with us now, or get left behind. Your choice.”

Thistle snorts at that, pacing away. Arthur follows, and Merlin has no choice but to follow him. He has the unnerving feeling that the forest is changing as they make their way through it. Merlin certainly doesn’t recognise the trail they took to get here. 

Merlin tries not to think about it too much, and breathes a sigh of relief when they finally escape the tangle of trees, out into the open air.

Thistle has led them to the stony shores of a lake. Merlin shivers at the chill in the air, the rocks crunching below his boots. “Wow.”

Arthur hums in agreement, looking out onto the clear grey water. They both spot the boat at the same time, resting on the shore. “I guess that’s our way out of here.”

Thistle barks once, wandering over to the boat. He tilts his head to one side, eyes narrowing. Merlin has the distinct feeling he’s wondering how clever they are. 

“We know how to row a boat,” Merlin tells him reassuringly.

Thistle lets his tongue loll out of his mouth.

“We do!” Merlin insists.

Arthur shoulders past Merlin. “Merlin, you’re talking to a dog. It’s not going to talk back.”

Merlin scowls. “He’s not a dog.”

“Well, he’s a dog right _ now _. Stop talking to the dog and get in the boat.” 

Merlin huffs. He could swear Thistle winks at him. 

Arthur drags the boat out to the water’s edge. There’s two oars in there, but Merlin isn’t sure they’ll be necessary. The old religion has a bit of a thing for magical boats that take you where you want to go. Or rather. Where you need to go. Like Merlin is choosing to take a boat ride to fight a witch, and who knows what else, _ voluntarily. _

Arthur drops the boat close to the waters, before turning. Thistle watches them evenly, stark black against the muted greys and blues of the water and the sky. 

Arthur dips his head. “I won’t forget this.”

Thistle stands up, shaking his shaggy fur. Merlin watches in wonder as mist begins to settle over the bay. Thistle stretches, yipping once before trotting away. Merlin holds his breath as the mist grows thicker. It swirls around Thistle as he lopes back towards the treeline, and then he’s gone.

They’re quiet for a while, the only sound the water lapping against the rocks. 

Eventually, Arthur speaks. “Come on. Percival and Leon are waiting. We’ve left them long enough.”

Merlin sighs, finally looking away and trudging towards the boat. “At least we’re out of that forest.” 

“We are,” Arthur agrees, deceptively light, and Merlin stumbles to a halt. He knows that tone. “And do you know what that means, Merlin?”

Merlin fidgets. “What does it mean?”

“It means,” Arthur says pleasantly, and Merlin is so, so dead, “it’s just me and you, now. Alone.”

Merlin swallows.

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Arthur hasn’t said anything for the past seven minutes.

Merlin knows, because he’s been counting. 

The issue with the whole joint destiny, always be by your side thing, is that you get to know each other pretty well. Well enough how to know how to get Merlin to squirm, which is what Arthur’s doing now. Saying absolutely nothing and waiting for the anticipation to drive Merlin wild.

Merlin lasts another minute and a half before he cracks. “Arthur.”

“Merlin,” Arthur responds evenly.

Merlin sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. Arthur looks unfairly handsome, breeze ruffling his golden hair and eyes the colour of a summer storm. He’s rowing with apparently little effort, sleeves rolled up to reveal tanned forearms.

Merlin fidgets. “I understand you may have some questions.”

“May?”

“Definitely have,” Merlin corrects. “Definitely have some questions.”

Arthur stops rowing abruptly. He drops the oars inside the boat with a clatter. “What I want to know, Merlin, is what that thing was. And how you knew_ all about it. _”

“It was a guess!” Merlin defends. “And we’re lucky I guessed correctly, or we’d still be stuck in that forest.”

Arthur’s eyes are blazing. “That’s not the issue here. I want to know exactly what that creature was. I’ve never - “

Arthur cuts himself, hissing in frustration. Merlin can usually read Arthur like a favourite book, but something’s wrong here. A nasty voice at the back of Merlin’s head reminds him it isn't the first time he and Arthur have crossed wires recently. 

“Arthur.” Merlin leans forward. “Arthur, what is it? What’s wrong?”

Arthur stares at him, mouth a thin line. “I was afraid, Merlin.”

All the air rushes out of Merlin’s lungs. “What?”

“I was afraid,” Arthur repeats flatly. Arthur’s face is devoid of any emotion; every single wall he has is up, his eyes shuttered. “I’ve never met a creature like that. I could - I could feel the magic coming off it.”

“You could feel that?” Merlin asks softly.

Arthur lets a little emotion slip, eyes going wide. “You couldn’t?”

“No, no, I could,” Merlin agrees in a rush. 

Arthur looks a little reassured by that. “Even without him turning into a damn dog, just looking at him, it was obvious he was - “

Arthur trails off, at a loss for words.

“Different,” Merlin supplies eventually. 

Arthur snorts. “That’s an understatement.”

The tension breaks a little, like ice melting under hot water. “Arthur,” Merlin says tentatively. “I would never have known you were afraid today.”

“Because what use would be looking afraid do?” Arthur counters. He looks down at his hands, fiddling with his ring. “A King should never show weakness.”

Those are Uther’s words, but Merlin won’t let old ghosts overtake this moment. “You were - “

“Fear won’t help Leon and Percival,” Arthur continues, like Merlin hadn’t even spoken. “Fear won’t save them from Morgana. It wouldn’t have gotten me or you out of that forest.” 

Merlin doesn’t know what to say to that. They sit in silence for a bit, Arthur twisting his rings round and round, and Merlin watching him do it. 

“It was a phooka,” Merlin says finally.

Arthur snorts, not lifting his gaze. “Excuse me?”

“I’m being serious,” Merlin insists, kicking Arthur’s foot gently. 

Arthur shakes his head, a smile playing around the corner of his mouth. “Merlin, if I wanted to hear you swear at me, I would have stayed at home.”

“When do I ever swear at you?”

“When do you not? What was it you called me that one time? A bone idled frog?”

“Toad,” Merlin corrects, “and none of those words are explicit swears. Do you want to hear a story or not?”

“Do I have a choice?” Arthur grouses, but he presses his foot against the side of Merlin’s. 

Merlin clears his throat. “There are lots of legends about the phooka, but no one has seen one for a really long time, so they kind of merge together.”

Arthur knocks his knee against Merlin. “Tell me the short version.”

“No,” Merlin says tartly, and is rewarded by Arthur’s lip quirking up. “Are you going to listen or not?”

“Okay, okay, I’m listening.”

“Good. The legends say that phookas can take the shape of many creatures, sometimes humans, but also birds, horses, dogs. They always have black fur and sometimes they have horns. Or a tail.” Merlin frowns, trying to remember what the old texts say. “They’re very mischievous and can take whatever form they want.”

Arthur leans forward, transfixed. “But what are they?”

Merlin shrugs. “Creatures of magic. Spirits of the forest. No one really knows. A lot of the legends say they bring good fortune. There are many tales of them guiding travellers away from danger, or giving advice. But they’re mischievous, like I said. You have to be careful with them, they’re tricky.”

Arthur nods slowly. “Have you ever met one before?”

Merlin blinks, caught off guard. “What? No. Why would you ask that?”

Arthur shrugs, a glint of something in his eyes. “You know a lot about them.”

“I read about them,” Merlin explains, feeling the flush creep up his neck. “That’s all.”

What Merlin doesn’t say, is that’s he’s spent hours pouring over the books of the old legends. On especially bad nights, when Merlin’s thoughts are too loud to let him sleep, he likes to curl up in a corner of the library. There are hundreds of books for Merlin to flick through by candlelight, tales of phookas and selkies and kelpies. It makes Merlin feel less lonely. 

Arthur shrugs. “Fine. Why can’t I tell them my name?”

“It gives them power over you,” Merlin says firmly. 

“But he told us his name.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, he agreed to a name we could call him. He didn’t give the name to us. That’s not his real name.”

Arthur groans. “That’s confusing.”

“They’re tricky, like I said,” Merlin says apologetically. 

“He helped us.” Arthur’s good mood seems to sombre. “He didn’t even know us, but he helped us. Well, presuming this boat does take us to Morgana, and not to our deaths. Are there any legends about that?”

“Not that I remember.”

Arthur sighs. “In all fairness, they likely amount to the same thing. Is that what he meant, about his role to play?”

Merlin slumps down in his seat. “I guess so. The phooka helps lost travellers. Guide them towards the right path, steer them away from danger.”

Arthur hums. “Anything about them living in lakes?”

Merlin frowns. “Um, no. Not that I recall, they like forests and open fields. Why?”

Arthur’s eyes fix on something over his shoulder. “Because I think we’re about to need a little good fortune.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so. phookas! there is a bit of information online about them if you want to have a read. they can be bringers of both good and bad fortune, but Thistle is a more benevolent creature. (though this would have gone very differently if arthur had kicked off and pissed him off.)
> 
> fun facts about phookas that didn't manage to get their way in here -
> 
> *they say the first berries of november are spoiled by the phooka, and you shouldnt eat them because it would be stealing from the phooka. this is why Thistle is eating berries - also because they didnt have popcorn in the middle ages lol - and also why merlin tells arthur not to eat anything. you shouldn't eat anything fae creatures give you anyway cause then you'll be trapped there forever
> 
> there are couple of clues (i guess?) in this chapter about events that will happen later on. so let me know if you had any guesses what these could be! 
> 
> speaking of, the bird in the previous chapter - the black bird that is by the river when Arthur is cleaning Merlin's head wound - is the phooka in bird shape! he is both spying on them and trying to warn them, as it is after that the griffin attacks. tbf hes not trying that hard, but equally its not his fault that arthur and merlin dont speak bird
> 
> I would love to hear your thoughts on this chapter, it was a lot of fun to write and i love putting more mythical creatures in my stories!! i read a lot of the spiderwick chronicles when i was young and this is where a lot of my inspiration is from. (not from the cgi mess that is the merlin tv show rip ) what a fcking nerd lmao 
> 
> on that note - my headcanon of the phooka is a lot different to most designs out there, cause like. i just wanted to write him that way? i didnt want to freak arthur out too much too fast. but if you wanted to see how the phooka looks like in mythology, then the phooka from the spiderwick chronicles is pretty cool i think.
> 
> well this author's note is a hot mess lmao 
> 
> comments are always really appreciated!!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you all enjoy this chapter! I had so much fun writing it, even if it took a little time.
> 
> Just a heads up warning - Merlin panics at the start of this chapter, it isn't a full blown panic attack, he just remembers a memory of when he had to save Arthur's life (what's new) and Arthur helps him calm down and breathe. It's not very long - couple of sentences - but thought I'd give people the heads up.

“What?” Merlin twists in his seat, peering out at still waters. “What did you see?”

Arthur appears troubled. “I’m not sure, it was too fast.”

Merlin narrows his eyes, grinning as something suddenly bobs above the surface in the distance. “That would be a _ seal _, Arthur.”

Arthur crosses his arms stubbornly. “It didn’t look like a seal.”

“Because you’re an expert in marine biology,” Merlin mutters, and yelps when Arthur kicks him in the shin. “Arthur!”

Arthur looks panicked. “Did you not see that?”

“See what?” Merlin says in exasperation. 

“Come sit next to me,” Arthur demands. 

Merlin stares at him. There’s two benches in their wooden boat, and they’ve been sat opposite each other for the majority of the journey. “What? Why?”

“Merlin, just do it,” Arthur orders, no room for argument, so Merlin picks his way over and flops down next to Arthur.

“What if we tip the boat?”

“It’s a magical boat, I don’t think gravity is a big issue here,” Arthur mutters. He’s watching the water, eyes sharp. 

This is the closest they’ve been in a while. Merlin settles in next to Arthur, their sides pressed together, knee to shoulder. “This was a good idea, you’re really warm.”

“Merlin!” Arthur hisses. “Will you please shut up!”

Merlin cranes his head to look at Arthur, unsure why Arthur’s so upset. “It’s freezing out here, Arthur, you don’t have to be such an ass about it!” 

“Un-bloody-believable,” Arthur grits out. His ears are turning pink.

Merlin opens his mouth, affronted and ready to rip into Arthur for being such a grumpy prick all the time, when there’s a large splash from beyond the boat.

Merlin freezes. Arthur goes completely still, like a stag sensing a hunter.

“Maybe it was a seal,” Merlin whispers, but is cut off by another large splash. “Oh. Maybe not a seal.”

“There’s two of them,” Arthur murmurs.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. “Why would you tell me that?”

Arthur leans towards the side of the boat, but Merlin catches his hand. “Arthur!”

Arthur pauses, staring down at their joined hands with a startled expression. Merlin is too keyed up to notice, glancing around. His magic is reacting to his panic, buzzing under his skin. 

“Merlin, you knew about the phooka,” Arthur says hurriedly. “Are there legends about magical things that live in water?”

“Arthur,” Merlin says tightly. His voice sounds odd to his ears. “Arthur, I really don’t like this.”

His chest is starting to feel tight. Something, something, Merlin doesn’t know what, has tripped a switch in Merlin’s head. All he can think about is that time he had to save Arthur from drowning, had to save him from a lake just like this one. All he can hear is the waves lapping against the shore, the way they’re lapping against the boat enough.

It’s a memory from so long ago, but something about being here, in the middle of the lake with danger all around, brings the memory rushing back. Panic explodes in Merlin’s chest. 

His breath comes out in a harsh pant, and Arthur turns worried eyes to him. “Merlin?”

“I’m okay,” Merlin mumbles. His heart is beating so fast he’s sure Arthur can hear it. “I just need a minute.”

Arthur drops Merlin’s hand, only to grab Merlin’s palm and press it against Arthur’s chest. The heat of his skin jolts Merlin, cuts through the fog a little.

“Merlin,” Arthur says calmly. “I need you to breathe. Do it with me, okay? Feel my chest. In, out. In, out.”

Arthur’s steady voice gets through the noise in Merlin’s head. Probably because it’s so familiar, so comforting. He counts, _ one, two, one, two _, and Merlin focuses on that, on that and the rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. 

Eventually, the anxiety drains out of him. Merlin himself coming back to the surface, piece by piece. 

Arthur is still talking, low and soothing. “That’s it, Merlin. You’re doing so well, so good for me.”

Once the air has returned to his lungs. Merlin takes a deep breath and shakes his head. “Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur hesitates, before running a light thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone. “How are you feeling?”

“Less like I’m going to pass out,” Merlin mumbles, and Arthur laughs, the sound edged with relief. “What was that?”

“You panicked,” Arthur explained quietly. “It used to happen to Leon all the time. Especially if he was reminded of something.” 

“I remembered a bad memory.” Merlin swallows, mouth suddenly dry. “I’m alright now, though.”

“Good.” Arthur’s eyes are soft. “That’s good.” 

He is tired, though, wrung dry. His hand is still pressed to Arthur’s chest, and he drops it slowly.

“So.” Merlin sighs, rubbing a shaky hand through his hair. “Are you going to introduce me?”

“Can’t forget our manners,” Arthur agrees grimly, and they both turn towards the end of the boat.

There are two women submerged in the water. They are women in the same way the phooka was a man; it’s the skin they’ve chosen to wear for now, and it could be discarded in a heartbeat. 

The woman furthest away has sunk so low in the water that she is only visible from her eyes upwards. Her skin is eerily pale, her hair an inky halo as it fans out behind her. The closer woman has dark skin and appears more confident. She has one hand resting on the side of the boat, peering over the edge with bright, curious eyes. 

“What are they?” Arthur murmurs, jaw clenched.

“I’m not sure yet,” Merlin replies softly. 

At the sound of their voices, the second woman bursts into a loud chittering. It’s a distinctly inhuman sound, making both Arthur and Merlin jump. The other woman appears to reply, so it’s clearly a language of some kind. Just not one Merlin speaks. Or one he’s ever heard before. 

They must come to an agreement, because the second woman snarls, revealing sharp, white teeth, before abruptly ducking under the water. Merlin gasps, but she doesn’t reemerge. The first woman snorts, before turning back to Merlin and Arthur. 

She blinks once, and when she speaks, her voice is lilting and melodic. “My sister and I have many questions for you.”

The moment she begins to talk, Arthur stiffens up. He is so clearly uncomfortable that it makes Merlin’s heart hurt. 

“O - okay,” Merlin agrees, when it becomes apparent Arthur isn’t going to join in this particular conversation. “What questions do you have?”

The woman tilts her head to one side. She has a handful of silver freckles sprinkled across the bridge of her nose. They glow like stars against her dark skin, spread across her cheekbones like constellations. 

“Do you know where you are headed?”

Merlin nods. “We are going to help our friends. They’ve been taken by someone who - who intends to hurt them. And we need to get them back.”

The woman hums. “Then you are not lost.”

“Um, no.”

“Just foolish.”

Merlin blinks, before laughing. “Probably. But they are our friends, and we can’t leave them.”

The woman drifts closer in the water. She crosses her arms on the side of the boat, resting her head on them and staring at Merlin without blinking. “You seek the witch.”

Arthur’s head snaps up. “How do you know that?”

The woman gazes at him, silver hair spilling over the bare skin of her forearms. “The sea knows many things.”

“Have you seen her?” Merlin asks. “The witch, have you seen her?”

“I don’t tread on land,” the woman scoffs, sounding utterly disgusted. “Her poison seeps into the earth, and in turn these waters. The balance is _ wrong _.”

She spits the last word and Merlin’s magic aches in sympathy. 

The magic here feels so elemental, wild and untamed, like the waves breaking against their little wooden boat. This creature is the same, powerful and dangerous and hauntingly beautiful. Intelligent eyes and sharp teeth and the way she moves in the water like they are one and the same. 

Merlin is so lonely sometimes, feels so _different, _so out of place, so desperate to understand his gifts in a kingdom of people who are nothing like him. Being here now, seeing these creatures, fills him with both awe and comfort. It’s such a far cry from Camelot that it’s dizzying.

“You’re a selkie,” Merlin breathes, something clicking in his head. “That’s what you are. A selkie.”

Seeing Arthur’s expression is like dunking his head into a bucket of ice. He’s said very little so far, and his hands are clenched into fists, so hard his knuckles are white. Merlin remembers the break in Arthur’s voice when he admitted he was afraid, and his wonder dims.

“Arthur,” Merlin begins hesitantly. “I think we should listen to her.”

“We don’t exactly have a choice,” Arthur answers flatly.

As if sensing his discomfort, the selkie’s eyes flicker to Arthur. “The witch is hiding in the dark tower. This boat will take you there.”

“Thank you,” Merlin says haltingly. 

“She is weak.” The selkie narrows her eyes. “You should rip out her throat.”

Merlin narrowly avoids choking on her own spit. “I - um - “

“With your teeth,” the selkie continues earnestly. Then, in the tone used to explain something to a small child, “She is vulnerable and that is the best time to strike.”

“Right,” Merlin coughs. “Thanks for the - for the advice.”

“It’s what I’d do,” the selkie offers helpfully. 

Merlin isn’t sure Arthur won’t be capsizing the boat at any point, rescue mission be damned, so he quickly moves on. “You said you had more questions?”

The selkie clicks her tongue. “Yes. It is most important. My sister will not speak with you if you answer incorrectly.”

“Your sister was the other selkie?” Merlin guesses.

“I have many sisters,” the selkie answers vaguely. “Do you have any fish?”

Merlin frowns. “Uh, no.”

The selkie sighs. “Do you have any sisters?”

Merlin blinks, confused by the sudden topic change. “Uh, no.”

The selkie turns sly eyes to Arthur, and Merlin’s heart squeezes in his chest. “Do you?”

To his surprise, Arthur answers. “I did once. But now - I’m not sure.”

Arthur flushes after that, like he hadn’t meant to speak so honestly. The selkie clicks her tongue. “Who is she now?”

There’s a long silence. Merlin wants to speak but can’t. His throat is dry, the words caught in it like splinters. Arthur won’t meet his eyes.

“I don’t know,” Arthur answers finally. “I don’t know who she is anymore.”

It’s quiet. Arthur’s nails are cutting red marks into his squeezed palms.

The selkie keens, a low, solemn sound. She sinks beneath the water and Merlin watches her disappear numbly. 

“She’s right.”

Merlin flinches at the rough cut of Arthur’s voice. “Arthur - “

“Morgana will just keep hurting people.” Arthur shakes his head. “If this really is her, this is an elaborate trap. She’s desperate. Or half mad. And that makes her dangerous.”

“Arthur.”

“I don’t want to hurt her,” Arthur says quietly. “Even after everything she’s done, even after my - my father. It pains me to even think I’d have to - “

He breaks away, voice catching. Merlin feels utterly useless, at a total loss at what to say to comfort him. 

“I can’t let her hurt my people.” In this, Arthur sounds resolute, though miserably so. “I can’t let her hurt Leon. Or Percival.” Arthur ducks his head. “And I’ll never let her hurt you.”

Merlin’s heart stops in his chest. “Arthur, I - “

Something erupts from the water beside them. Merlin shrieks in surprise, as the boat rocks dangerously.. He grabs hold of Arthur, nearly dragging them both overboard. 

“Merlin!” Arthur sputters, righting them both. “You almost drowned us both!”

“She nearly drowned you!” Merlin says indignantly.

Arthur twists to see who he’s talking about, then jolts like his arse has been set on fire. The selkie has popped up right beside Arthur, leaning on the side of the boat and grinning widely. It’d be more reassuring if her teeth weren’t sharp enough to slice Merlin in half. 

“She might still drown you,” Merlin says consideringly, and Arthur shoves him in the arm without breaking eye contact. 

Arthur is doing an excellent job of remaining very calm. Merlin isn’t surprised. Arthur has faced down enemy armies, murderous sorcerers and even dragons. He’s a warrior, a leader, and he’s very good at keeping level headed when faced with a threat.

The selkie reaches out and grips Arthur’s hand. Arthur keeps still, courtesy of the same instinct that politely advises you not to run when you’re facing down a wolf. 

“For your sorrow,” the selkie pronounces, and dumps a handful of slimy seaweed in Arthur’s hand.

Merlin doesn’t even try to hide his laughter. Arthur looks appalled, but years of having etiquette drummed into him stops him from throwing it back in the selkie’s face. Thankfully, the selkie apparently isn’t well versed in human expressions, because she doesn’t look offended. Well. She doesn’t rip their throats out, so that must mean something.

“Thank you,” Arthur manages graciously.

A piece of seaweed drips off Arthur’s hand and splatters on his boot. This is the funniest thing that’s happened to Merlin in ages.

“This boat will take you to the shore. The witch has your friends in her dark tower.” The selkie wrinkles her nose. “I tire of this skin.”

“Goodbye,” Merlin utters softly, and Arthur’s eye flit from the selkie to Merlin, and back again.

The selkie taps the side of the boat. She stares at Merlin for a long heartbeat, and something like understanding passes between them. 

She ducks beneath the water without any fanfare, gone as abruptly as she’d arrived. 

Arthur waits until she definitely isn’t coming back. Then he elbows Merlin in the ribs and hisses, “What the hell am I meant to do with all this?”

“Don’t throw it back,” Merlin laughs.

“What else is there to do?” Arthur snaps.

“If you throw it back she’ll be offended. And then she might eat you,” Merlin reasons.

Arthur holds out his hands. “Merlin, take this now.”

Merlin snorts. “No thanks.” 

Arthur narrows his eyes, and dumps the entire lot on Merlin’s lap. Merlin yelps and throws it all overboard.

Arthur watches it splash into the water with a satisfied smile. “There. Now if she’s going to eat anyone, it’ll be you.”

“I don’t think she’d actually eat us.”

“Selkie.” Arthur hums. “That’s what you called her.”

Merlin is saved by answering by a movement in his eye line. In the distance, two seals are skimming across the water. He can hear their playful barks from here, as they dance through the waves. 

“Seals.” Arthur sighs. “First rabbits, then dogs, now seals. What next? My horse?”

Merlin hesitates, a page in one of those dusty books labelled ‘kelpies’ springing to mind. He doesn’t say anything, but Arthur takes one look at his face and gapes. “There are - no. Don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.”

Merlin bites his lip. “Do you - do you want to know what a selkie is?”

Arthur stands abruptly, crossing over to the other bench and sitting down. Hurt stings in Merlin’s chest, as Arthur picks up the oars again and starts rowing. 

“What I want,” Arthur begins, and he sounds so weary that Merlin’s bones ache in sympathy. “Is to rescue Leon and Percival, preferably not die in the process, then return to Camelot as soon as possible.”

“Okay,” Merlin says quietly, and tries to act like his heart isn’t breaking, just a little.

  
  
  
  


-

The boat eventually brings them to a grey, rocky shore. Beyond that lies dense forest, and rising out of those, is a weathered dark tower.

Merlin swallows. “Well. That doesn’t look at all ominous.” 

Arthur tightens his cloak around him, pulling up the hood. “Come on. We’ll set up camp. It’s too dark to do anything now. And you’re shivering like a drowned kitten, they’d hear your knees knocking together from a mile away.”

“I’m not,” Merlin fibs, but Arthur just shoots him an unimpressed look and strides forward. He doesn’t even call Merlin out on the lie, which is a big indicator of how Not Good things are. 

Though in all fairness, the place they’ve arrived at doesn’t exactly inspire laughter and joy. The trees are so thick that very little light breaks through. There are birds nestled high in the branches, but they don’t make any noise, just watch Arthur and Merlin pass with beady eyes. 

Merlin has seen more creepy places than he ever cared to, but this forest would take the prize. He remembers what the selkie said about Morgana poisoning the earth; Morgana is full of hatred and fury and bitterness. It’ll be spilling over into her magic, and in turn weathering the land. 

They pick a small break in the trees to settle down for the night. It’s fairly well hidden and Merlin doesn’t think anyone will be coming to look for them anyway. Morgana will want them to go to her, to play this out like some sick pantomime. 

He starts a fire, making sure to keep it low, not wanting to attract too much attention regardless, just to be on the safe side. Morgana may not be coming for them yet, but Merlin doesn’t want to think about what else might inhabit this forest. 

Arthur manages to find a rabbit from somewhere, and they eat it hunched over the glowing coals of the fire. It’s so hot that it burns Merlin’s tongue, his fingertips, but he’s too hungry to care.

He watches Arthur carefully as he licks his fingers clean. Normally the silences between him and Arthur are comfortable, routine, a product of spending the majority of your waking hours with another person. He and Arthur have spent entire mornings saying nothing to each other, Arthur sat at his desk and working through papers, Merlin perched on the window seat and cleaning Arthur’s armour, basking in the sunlight that spills through the glass. 

It’s not comfortable now. Since stepping out of the boat, something’s changed in Arthur. He’s coiled tighter than a snake, jaw ticking as he works something over in his mind. 

Merlin has an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach, and he doesn’t think it’s just the charbroiled rabbit. He clears his throat, the sudden need to fill the silence clawing at his throat. “So. This place is horrible. Not where I thought we’d be spending the night, when we set off three days ago.”

Arthur doesn’t reply, so Merlin chatters on. Anything to take up space in this awful void between them. “Not that I’m not looking forward to a night of sleeping on dirt and leaves, but my bed back home - “

Arthur blows on a piece of meat. “Home.”

Merlin startles at the interruption. “Yes, home. Camelot? Where we both live?”

Arthur doesn’t respond to that either. He chews his piece of meat, watching Merlin steadily. The shadows draw closer around them; in the low light of the fire, Arthur’s eyes almost look black. 

The entire moment feels off kilter. Merlin swallows, unsure what else to do but continue. “I hope Gaius isn’t too worried. Gwaine will have got back by now. Hopefully. I’m sure he will have, Apollo is a good horse. I know there was that incident with him and the stable boy, but it’s not like there was any blood, and besides - “

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice cuts through his babble like an arrow. Merlin abruptly shuts his mouth. “You panicked. Before, in the boat.”

Merlin blinks, confused by comment, but feeling a little more reassured by the change of topic. “Oh. Yeah. Being on the lake, it reminded me of - a bad memory. It doesn’t matter now. I don’t know why it upset me.”

Abruptly, Merlin recalls that Arthur was never told Sophia tried to drown him, all those years ago. All Arthur knows is that he tried to elope with Sophia, then Merlin knocked him out and brought him back to Camelot. They never mentioned the lake, never mentioned Merlin had to drag Arthur out of it, pulse thundering as he lay Arthur on the shore and checked for his breath. It makes Merlin a little sick to realise how little Arthur knows, how much Merlin has kept from him every time his life was threatened. 

Which means Arthur wouldn’t understand why the lake triggered Merlin’s rush of panic. Not that _ Merlin _understands why their boat trip caused those memories to come flooding back. Probably something to do with being surrounded by water, and Merlin feeling on edge with everything going on. It’s not like Merlin has good associations with boats and lakes anyway. After Freya - 

Well. Gaius says minds are funny things, that life causes them to scar in ways we can’t see. After being poisoned by Nimeuh, Arthur flinched for a week every time Merlin touched a goblet. And, sometimes, when Arthur is dressed in all his finery, Merlin catches Gwaine giving him an odd look, and he knows Gwaine is thinking about his father. It’s not Arthur that Gwaine is seeing, but nobility and power and gold. 

“It was just a bad memory,” Merlin repeats, then says it again, stronger this time. “Just a bad memory.”

Arthur leans forward. “A memory of a time when you saved my life?”

“Yeah, that - “ Merlin says, then freezes. “I - what?”

“A memory of a time you’ve saved my life. I know you’ve done so before, I’ve seen it.”

Oh. Maybe Arthur is talking about regular heroic acts on Merlin’s part. It’s not like he always uses magic, like when he pushed Arthur out of the way of that dagger. 

“Right,” Merlin replies steadily. “That was it.”

Arthur smiles pleasantly. “And how many times have you saved my life, Merlin?”

The hairs at the nape of his neck are standing up. Arthur is looking at him with calm, measured eyes, and Merlin feels panic jolt through his stomach.

“I - I don’t know,” Merlin stutters. “I couldn’t say, Sire.”

The flames dance over Arthur’s face. “Do you know what, Merlin? I understand what the selkie meant, now.”

There’s a single scrap of Merlin that is clinging to the denial that this is just another conversation, that this isn’t what he thinks it is.

“She said the balance was wrong,” Arthur continues, in that same awful, blank tone. “And she’s right, isn’t she? Something is wrong. It’s been wrong for a long time, and I’m only seeing it now.”

Merlin digs his nails into his palm. “I don’t - what are you talking about?”

That angers Arthur. This close, Merlin can see the emotion flare in his eyes, like the flames between them. The brief show of feeling makes it worse when Arthur’s entire face shutters, turning cold.

“Fine.” Arthur’s voice is as sharp as a dagger sliding between Merlin’s ribs. “I’ll rephrase. When was the last time you saved Gwaine’s life?”

“What do - what does that have to do with - “

“I know the answer to that one,” Arthur interrupts. “Three days ago. When there was more blood on the outside of Gwaine’s body, than in.”

Heat rushes to Merlin’s face. “I told you, I patched him up - “

Abruptly, Arthur pushes to his feet. “_ Don’t _ . Do you think me a fool? I’ve been to _ war _, Merlin, I know a life threatening injury when I see one!"

Merlin stands, his legs shaky. “No, it’s not - “

“Do you know something, Merlin?” Arthur snaps. “I've known you for three years.”

Merlin is startled into silence, taking an instinctive step back as Arthur continues. “I know what you look like when you’re happy, when you’re angry. I’ve seen you cry. I’ve seen you in pain. You really are horrendous at hiding how you feel. But I have never, never seen you look the way you did when you saw those magical creatures.”

Merlin reels. “How I - how did I look?”

“Like you had found a part of yourself. Like you were no longer _ alone _.”

Arthur’s voice catches on the last word; Merlin feels it ricochet through him like a stone. His legs finally give out, and he has to catch himself before he falls to the floor.

The tension between them is palatable, thick enough to choke them both. That’s how Merlin feels; like he missed a step on the stairs, and now he’s dazed and can’t breathe, and everything, _ everything _hurts.

“I don’t know what to say,” Merlin whispers finally.

“I do,” Arthur answers readily. Merlin can’t bear to look at him. “Because everything makes sense now. My chambers are always heated, even in the middle of winter. You have strange feelings and they always turn out to be right. Gwaine should be dead, you too by the bruises you’re sporting, but neither of you are. Gwaine was well enough to travel back to Camelot on _ horseback ._”

A whine escapes the back of Merlin’s throat. Arthur is still speaking, louder now. “Half the time, I don’t know where you are. And when you return, you have odd bruises and scars, and the latest threat has suddenly gone. Gaius says you’re at the tavern, but Merlin do you really think I don’t know you well enough now to know how much you hate ale?”

He’s not going to say it, Merlin realises suddenly. Arthur isn’t going to say it. He’s not going to pretend he doesn’t know, but this is Merlin’s choice. Arthur won’t take the words from him. 

It’s that thought that has Merlin choking out the three words he never thought he’d say. “I have magic.”

Arthur’s face crumples. It’s over in a heartbeat, but Merlin is staring right at him and sees it clearly. The shock and hurt in Arthur’s eyes, the last sliver of hope smashed to pieces. 

It’s exactly how Merlin feels.

“How long?”

His eyes are stinging and Merlin scrubs at them with the edge of his sleeve. “Since forever. I was born with it.”

“Magic doesn’t work like that.”

“Mine does.” The tears are spilling over now, sliding down his cheeks unbidden. “Nobody taught me, I haven't learned how to do it. I’ve just - always had magic. Ever since I was a baby.”

“Gods,” Arthur murmurs, and buries his head in his hands. 

Merlin feels his heart crack in two in his chest. The pain is visceral, overwhelming. He never wanted it to go like this. 

“Who else knows?” Arthur asks, voice muffled by his palms. “Gaius, I assume?”

“Gaius. And my mother, obviously. And - Will. Will knew.”

Arthur rubs his hands over his face. “He was never the sorcerer, was he. That was you. And he lied to protect you.”

Merlin nods his head miserably, openly crying now. “Yes. It was me who made the winds that stopped Kanen’s men.”

Arthur shakes his head. Merlin is horrified to see that his eyes are tinged with red. “And what about Gwaine? Does he know?”

“He found out when I healed him,” Merlin sniffs. “I had to use my magic to save him, otherwise he would have died.”

“It’s been you, hasn’t it?” Arthur asks quietly. “All this time. All those odd coincidences. All those near misses.”

“That bad memory.” Merlin clears his throat, though it feels like sandpaper. “It was of Sophia. You didn’t elope with her. She was a - well, it doesn’t really matter what she was. But she was magic, and she and her father tried to kill you. Tried to drown you in the lake, but I stopped them and pulled you out.”

“You told me I tried to elope with her, then you knocked me out and brought me back to Camelot.”

Fatigue creeps into Merlin’s bones, and the sudden wave of exhaustion threatens to drown him. He’s helpless to do anything but shrug miserably. Arthur’s face grows colder still. They’re both thinking the same thing; that Merlin has had plenty of explanations for Arthur over the years. And Merlin can see Arthur now rifling through those memories, flipping through them like an old book that finally has all its pages. 

Underneath the misery, fear begins to gnaw at him. Merlin figures he doesn’t have anything left to lose, so he might as well ask. “What are you going to do with me?”

The fear must be more evident in his tone than he realised, because Arthur’s head snaps up at that. “What? Merlin, I’m not - I’m not going to hurt you. Gods, I’d never - “

He breaks off, staring at Merlin like he’s seeing him for the first time. Merlin supposes he is.

“Oh.” Merlin rubs at his face again, snotty and wet and disgusting. More evidence of what a mess he is. 

Arthur sighs heavily. “There’s no - there isn’t time to deal with this now.”

He curls a hand around his sword, but all he does is stab it into the ground. Then he crouches down beside the fire, starting to tread it out. “Do you understand, Merlin? I can’t - I have to focus on rescuing my knights.”

Merlin sways on his feet. “We’re not going to - “

“No,” Arthur says harshly. Merlin snaps his mouth shut, and something like pain flashes over Arthur’s face. “I apologise. I shouldn’t have shouted.”

Arthur’s tone is perfectly polite. It’s awful. Merlin watches the inevitable happen, powerless to stop it, even with his magic revealed. Arthur is closing in on himself, putting up his walls and leaving Merlin alone on the outside.

This is how Arthur is going to _ deal with this _, Merlin realises with faint horror. Arthur’s right, they can’t have it out now, can’t lose it with each other when Leon and Percival need them. They have no idea what they’ll be facing tomorrow, which already puts them at a disadvantage. If they go in there angry and hurting and unable to focus, it will play right into Morgana’s hands. 

So Arthur will be perfectly polite, well mannered and impersonal and _ distant _. Arthur is going to do what his father always drummed into him; show no weakness, no feeling, no emotion whatsoever. 

“Arthur,” Merlin pleads, stumbling forward. “Arthur, please - “

Arthur kicks out the dying embers. His movements are jerky. “Merlin, _ enough _.”

It feels like everything they had built between them is being pulled apart. It hurts so badly that Merlin can’t bear it, can’t watch as everything good and precious and golden is ripped to shreds.

“Arthur,” Merlin chokes out. “Arthur, I never - “

“Merlin, please,” Arthur begs, and Merlin pulls up short. Arthur has never begged. Never. And certainly not to Merlin. 

Merlin has to clasp a hand over his mouth to muffle his sob. With the fire all but gone, he can barely see Arthur. Just the outline of him, etched in charcoal and moonlight, blue eyes washed grey. 

“I know,” Arthur continues gravely, and the little hitch in his voice makes Merlin want to vomit. “That we have a great many things to discuss. But Merlin, I cannot do that and save my men. I can’t. I don’t even know where to begin with this, I feel completely lost, and if I feel that way, I can’t even begin to imagine how you feel.”

Merlin gasps, taken aback. 

“I would never harm you,” Arthur swears lowly. “But I need time, Merlin. And that’s something Leon and Percival don’t have. So please. Just - please.”

“Okay,” Merlin agrees shakily, and dashes at his cheeks. “Fine.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything more, just shoulders past Merlin and begins to prepare for bed. He settles down beside a tree, pulling his cloak over him to use as a blanket. He says nothing about keeping watch, says nothing to Merlin at all. 

Arthur curls up on his side and shuts his eyes. He’s not sleeping. They both know he’s not sleeping. Merlin tries not to think about how Arthur has made sure his back is facing the large oak tree behind him.

There’s nothing for Merlin to do but to collapse onto the forest floor. The ground is hard and unforgiving, but a mean part of Merlin whispers that he deserves it. His magic is quiet when he reaches for it, dull and muted, as if it shares his sorrow.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut, and wishes for this terrible day to end. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> obligatory mythical creature information dump - there is lots of info out there on selkies. legends say selkies were mythical creatures who could change from seals into women, by shedding their skins. there are featured a lot in scottish mythology. if you want to read more about them then have a little google, they are pretty cool i think. if you want to imagine they're off happy together you can? but they won't be popping up 
> 
> I also like the idea of magical creatures thinking humans are dumb af like imagine her going back to her sister and being like: he hadn’t even THOUGHT of ripping out her throat smh 
> 
> I was writing this and had to check whether Arthur found out that Sophia didn't drown him, cause I haven't watched season one forever, and HE DIDN'T. He never knew.
> 
> It was good fun to write this magic reveal, because it was different to how I've wrote it before. Arthur is still very much in shock and he's also really hurting, and his default is to just Deal With The Next Thing, until he has space to breathe. They'll thrash it out properly later on in this story.
> 
> a couple people have asked but gwen and lance aren't in this fic, i'm afraid! they didn't fit in the direction/plot of this story so i haven't written them in. lance esp i never write cause i have nooo idea how to.. i skipped a lot of the episodes with him in cause i didnt much care for the love triangle stuff. i dont have a handle of his character
> 
> Anyway, love to hear thoughts and comments, they mean the world! as I've said before I have this one planned out and I'm so excited for what's coming!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst angst slow burn angst. sadly no magical creatures in this one

Merlin wakes up the next morning feeling worse than he did the night before.

This is a miracle in itself; truly Merlin has outdone himself this time.

His eyes feel gritty as he sits up, swollen and sore from crying. He’s alarmed to find Arthur fully awake, a small fire lit and the remains of the rabbit warming over them.

Arthur must have been awake for some time. Merlin can’t help wondering if Arthur deliberately woke early, to ensure Merlin didn’t wake first and find Arthur vulnerable and unconscious. It’s a nasty, poisonous thought that lodges itself in his head and won’t leave.

He still feels heavy with emotion, so he doesn’t greet Arthur. Not that it matters, because Arthur doesn’t offer him a good morning either. He just watches Merlin carefully, keeping a steady distance as they crouch by the fire.

Merlin doesn’t want to eat anything, but he knows his stomach will protest later if he doesn’t. Arthur waits until he's finished his last bite, before speaking. “We need to plan our strategy.” 

It’s the same tone he uses in council meetings, brisk, direct, perfunctory. It leaves no room for personal discussion, so apparently they really aren’t talking about this.

Merlin rubs his eyes, trying to focus. It’s not Leon and Percival’s fault he and Arthur are so messed up. He needs to pay attention, help in any way he can. “What’s our strategy?”

Arthur fixes him with a clear gaze. “That depends on what your magic can do.”

Merlin gapes at him. “You said we weren’t talking about my magic!”

“We’re not,” Arthur argues tightly. “We’re talking about strategy. And a good warrior uses every weapon at his disposal.” 

“It’s not a weapon,” Merlin snaps, knowing Arthur doesn’t mean it like that, but too wound up not to react. 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Arthur snaps back, and they glower at each other.

_ Is this what we are now? _ Merlin thinks to himself bitterly. A pair of wounded animals, lashing out at each other because we can’t bear to be in the same room. 

“Fine,” Merlin grits out eventually. “How did you mean it?” 

Arthur takes a deep breath. “We have no idea what we’ll be facing in there. Which makes it even more important that I know what advantages we have, what - abilities you possess.”

Arthur is resolute, arms folded. When he looks at Merlin, there isn’t even a hint of the usual affection he reserves just for Merlin. He’s treating this like any other strategy meeting, but the way his pulse beats in his neck gives him away. Neither of them are unaffected by this, not matter how much they pretend. 

“Fine,” Merlin agrees frostily. “What do you want to know?”

Arthur clears his throat. “We won’t know where Leon and Percival are being held. Is there a way of you - finding that out?”

Merlin nods jerkily. That’ll be simple enough, he’s used tracking spells a dozen times before. 

“And what about getting in there undetected?” Arthur waves a hand awkwardly. “Is there a way of doing that?”

Merlin frowns. “That’ll be harder. Spells like that are easier when no one is looking for you.” At Arthur’s raised eyebrow, he explains further. “If I was trying to sneak into Camelot, it wouldn’t be a problem, because no one pays attention to another servant. But here, they’re literally waiting for us to appear. That makes it harder for the magic to work.”

“So we’ll have to sneak in,” Arthur surmises. 

“I think so, yes.”

Arthur sits up abruptly. “I’ve just realised. They don’t know you’re coming.”

“What do you mean?”

“No one knows what happened to you and Gwaine,” Arthur says slowly. “The bandits that attacked you two, they’re - dead?”

He phrases it like a question, but one Arthur doesn’t really want the answer to. Merlin just nods once, trying not to think about the bodies of the men he left behind. 

“Which means they didn’t get a chance to take you back to Morgana. Or tell Morgana that you were still alive,” Arthur reasons. “And the men who took Leon and Percival, they wouldn’t know either. They were long gone by the time I came round.”

“It’s not like I’m who they were searching for,” Merlin agrees thoughtfully. “I doubt that they would have remembered a servant boy. If they did, they probably just assumed I was dead by now.”

“Exactly,” Arthur concludes. “Which gives us an advantage. It means if we have to split up, it’ll only be me they’re looking for.”

“Why would we split up?” Merlin says slowly.

Arthur shrugs, “If Leon and Percival are being kept separately, we may have to. It’s better to strike quickly, then rescue one and risk the alarm being raised and Morgana harming or hiding away the other.”

He says this like it’s completely reasonable, which is how Merlin knows it’s bullshit. 

“We may have to, may we?” Merlin asks archly.

Arthur’s eyes narrows in his direction; Merlin can’t help the thrill that shoots through his stomach. He knows this isn’t the right place to have this out, but the reckless, miserable part of himself is too hurt to stop it. His entire body feels like a bruise, raw and exposed, and the self-destructive bit of Merlin just wants to jab at it. Wants Arthur to react, to look at him, to do something other than feign polite interest. 

“Yes, we may.” Arthur stands, brushing himself off even though it’s pretty pointless after three days on the road. “You never know what is going to happen during an ambush.”

“But you suspect,” Merlin presses, putting his hands on his hips. “You suspect we’ll have to split up.”

Arthur stares at him blankly. “Why are you saying it like that?”

“Oh, I don’t know, Arthur.” Merlin tilts his head to one side, feigning ignorance. “It just sounds to me like you’ve already decided to do something stupid and self-sacrificing.”

Arthur scowls at him. “I don’t know what you could possibly mean, Merlin.”

Merlin scowls right back. “I think you do.”

Arthur pulls the hood of his cape over his head. Merlin thinks about asking Arthur whether he’s auditioning for the role of a spy, but he’s on thin ice as it is. Though, on reflection Merlin doesn’t care as much about that as he thought he did. With the way he’s feeling, he’s tempted to stamp down on that ice and smash it to pieces.

“Morgana is wanting to enact her revenge on me,” Arthur begins, in a tone so patronising it makes Merlin’s teeth clench. “Not you, not Percival, not Leon, though she will certainly use them as a means to break me, if she gets the chance.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says lowly, and he reaches out and grasps Merlin’s chin. It’s the first time he’s touched him since Merlin revealed his magic, and it makes Merlin gasp. Arthur’s grip is strong, the heat of his fingertips bleeding into Merlin’s skin. “_ You will not give her the chance. _If you get the opportunity to get Percival out, Leon too, then you take it and go.”

“What are you saying?” Merlin spits, and Arthur drops his hand, turning away. 

“I’m saying if this goes wrong and I’m captured, I know now you can fight your way out.” Arthur’s back is to Merlin, his shoulders tense. “You’ve never actually been helpless, have you, Merlin?”

Merlin starts forward angrily. “What, so now you know I have magic, you don’t care what happens to you? I’ll be fine, so why worry what - “

“You think I’m not worried?” Arthur snarls, whirling around. “You think knowing you have - _ powers _, makes me any less terrified? Because it doesn’t, Merlin. It just means I can tell myself the chances of you getting run through with a sword are significantly lower, because if you’ve fought off a dragon, you sure as hell can fight off Morgana’s lackeys!”

“A - a dragon?” Merlin stutters, Arthur’s eyes going wide with impatience.

“Yes, a dragon. You really think I believe now I was the one to kill it? I shouldn’t have believed it then, but I was just so relieved the threat to Camelot was over!” 

(It’s probably not the best time to tell Arthur that the dragon isn’t really dead, so Merlin keeps his mouth shut.)

Arthur scoffs. “I know you think me a fool, but I can connect some of the dots.”

“I don’t think you’re a fool,” Merlin mumbles, all of the fight suddenly draining out of him. 

If Merlin is feeling awful, then Arthur looks wretched. Merlin notes for the first time the lilac bruises under his eyes, the energy it’s taking for Arthur to hold himself straight and tall. 

At Merlin’s sudden deflation, Arthur’s hackles go down as well. They stand there quietly for a moment. Merlin digs his boots into the dirt beneath them, dragging the tips through the leaves on the floor. 

“This is why we can’t discuss this now.” Arthur’s voice is quiet. “We need to go in there level headed.”

Merlin fights back the tears stinging in his eyes. His heart feels like it’s being battered from one emotion to another, anger to misery and back again.

Arthur hesitates. Normally he’d be comforting Merlin by now, slinging an arm around his shoulder and ruffling his hair obnoxiously. Or listening to Merlin’s grievances and acting in an irritatingly overprotective manner, roping one (or all) of the knights in to help. 

Because nothing is normal anymore. Arthur clearly has no idea what to do with Merlin. Merlin doesn’t even know if Arthur _ wants _anything to do with him. For all Merlin knows, after they’ve saved Percival and Gwaine, Arthur is going to banish him from Camelot forever.

“Let’s go,” Merlin says numbly. “You’re right. Percival and Leon have been waiting long enough, let’s not waste anymore time.”

He brushes past Arthur. He’s not sure if it hurts more or less that Arthur doesn’t try to stop him. 

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


They trudge towards the aptly named dark tower. It’s not as though it’s easy to miss, like a giant arrow pointing towards misery and doom. It’s hard to muster any enthusiasm, but Merlin focuses on wanting to save Percival and Leon. He hadn’t realised how close he was to the other knights; he and Gwaine are friends, obviously, but the thought of anything happening to the others makes him feel sick.

Once they’re close, he and Arthur hunker down behind a large rock, peering out over it. 

Arthur grunts as he appraises the scene below. “There’s not a lot of movement.”

“Maybe they’re all inside,” Merlin suggests, then reevaluates. “Though that would be worse, actually, wouldn’t it.”

There are a few men standing guard, the occasional person leaving and entering the tower. The tower itself curls up to the sky, jagged black stone. 

Arthur nudges his shoulder. “Can you find out where Leon and Percival are being kept?”

Merlin nods and whispers the spell. Arthur pointedly doesn’t look at him and keeps his eyes fixed on the tower. He only glances up when the golden sparks begin to spill from Merlin’s fingers. They form a golden trail, leading away from them.

“Merlin!” Arthur hisses, but Merlin waves him away.

“It’s only visible to us,” Merlin snaps. “I’m not an idiot, Arthur. We just need to follow the trail, it’ll lead us to Percival and Leon.”

“Right.” Arthur is eyeing the trail of sparks like it’s a snake about to strike. He schools his face into a more neutral expression when Merlin purses his lips. “Keep low to the ground. I’ve been watching. There’s another entrance around the side. I’d rather not give Morgana the satisfaction of having us walk right through the front gates.”

Merlin makes to leave, when he inhales sharply. Arthur turns to him, eyes narrowing. “What? What is it?”

Merlin shivers, magic swirling under his skin. “There’s another magic user in that tower.”

“Morgana?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. I mean, yes, Morgana, but there’s someone else too.”

Arthur grips the hilt of his sword. “Then we need to be even more careful. Come on.”

It’s a combination of dumb luck and Merlin’s magic that gets them into the castle. Merlin can’t hide them completely, but he can dim the sounds of their footsteps. They slip in through a side entrance, the trail glowing gold in front of them.

“This is too easy,” Merlin can’t help hissing. “It’s never this easy.”

“It’s supposed to be easy, it’s a _ trap _.”

“That doesn’t make me feel any better!”

“Morgana doesn’t care about your emotional wellbeing, Merlin, she wants us all dead!”

“There is no need - “ Merlin begins snipply, but is cut off by Arthur abruptly yanking his arm out its socket. 

Or that’s how it feels anyway, as Arthur pulls him around the corner and slams him against the stone wall. Merlin’s back stings in protest, skin scraping painfully against the brick. 

“Guards,” Arthur breathes, but it takes Merlin’s brain a few seconds to recall how to form wounds. 

Arthur’s breath is hot against the sensitive skin of Merlin’s neck. He’s strong and muscular as he pins Merlin to the wall. Memories of the last time they were trapped in this position jump to the front of Merlin’s mind. Merlin inhales sharply, heating flooding through him, stomach flipping at the sudden urge to rock his hips forward - 

“Guards,” Merlin blurts, because he really can’t get them both murdered because the King of Camelot is painfully attractive. “You saw guards?”

“Two of them,” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin fights back a shiver. “Okay, they’re gone.”

He steps back and Merlin feels lightheaded at the sudden rush of air between them. Arthur checks around the corner, before continuing on their way. Merlin has to take a moment to remember how to breathe, before he follows him.

They both come to a halt when the golden trail in front of them splits. They’ve come to a fork in the corridor, and one path leads in one direction, the other path in another.

Merlin wrings his hands nervously. Arthur just looks unsurprised. “I knew Morgana would do something like this. She wouldn’t be foolish enough to keep them together. You don’t keep all your leverage in one place.”

Merlin is about to voice how much he hates the idea of splitting up, awful emotional tension aside, when there’s the sound of footsteps. 

Arthur’s eyes go wide, then calculating, and then he turns to Merlin and Merlin knows exactly what Arthur intends to do. 

“No,” Merlin hisses, backing up. “No, Arthur, no way.”

Arthur draws his sword. “Merlin, get back around that corner. Hide and don’t come out until they’re gone.”

“Arthur, there is no way - “

“They don’t know you’re here,” Arthur snaps. “If they see only me standing here, they’ll assume I’m alone. It’ll give you a chance to follow the other path and find which of my knights is at the end of it.”

“We can defeat them together!” Merlin argues. 

Arthur shakes his head. “What if it’s Morgana and the other sorcerer around that corner? What if they overpower you and me?” 

Merlin clenches his fists, because it’s a valid point. Merlin’s magic is powerful, but he knows from experience Morgana isn’t to be reckoned with. “I’m not letting you do this.”

“I’m not giving you a choice,” Arthur says harshly. “You’re our best chance and you know it. You’re no use to anyone if you’re knocked out beside me.”

The sounds of footsteps are getting louder. Arthur reaches forward and shoves at Merlin’s shoulder. “Merlin, _ go _. I’ll distract them and buy you some time.”

Merlin has no choice but to stumble away. His last glimpse of Arthur is him standing tall, swinging his sword in his hand.

Merlin presses himself against the wall, craning desperately to hear. There’s shouts and the noise of boots skidding to a stop on the stone floor.

“We’ve found him,” a deep voice grunts. “Are you lost, little King?”

Arthur snorts. “Funny. You’re not the first person to ask me that.”

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and thumps his head back against the wall. Swords clash, then Arthur makes a devastating little gasp of pain. Merlin bites his knuckles to stop his shout of anguish, and waits and waits until everything goes quiet. 

His stomach pitches at the thought of what they could be doing to Arthur right now. Bile rises in his throat, and he has to pinch himself hard to focus.

Arthur was right, there’s no use both of them being captured. Arthur was dragged off in the direction of the right path, and that’s probably part of Arthur’s plan, too. It wouldn’t surprise him if Morgana has kept Leon by her side, probably chained up to torment Arthur further.

Merlin grimly follows the trail that goes left. It takes him down winding corridors and narrow stairs, until Merlin realises he’s being led to a _ dungeon. _

He doesn’t encounter any guards on the way, presumably because they’ve all been summoned to capture Arthur. However, once he sets foot in the cells, it’s so dark that he literally stumbles onto four men keeping watch. 

In Merlin’s defence, there’s hardly any light down here and he’s got other pressing issues that have taken up his attention.

The men stare at Merlin. Merlin stares back like a startled rabbit. One of the men opens his mouth, and Merlin knocks them all out with one hasty spell. 

Merlin will grudgingly admit it; it’s a lot easier to do this when Arthur just lets him go off and save people. Merlin hasn’t had to come up with one plausible excuse.

“Hello?” a voice shouts from the gloom. “Who's there?”

“Percival?” Merlin calls cautiously. “Is that you?”

He stumbles over to the cells, curling his fingers around thick iron bars. “Percival!”

“Merlin! You’re a sight for sore eyes!”

“I wish I could say the same,” Merlin grimaces. “Percival, what did they do to you?”

Percival’s lip is split and his eye is turning a shocking shade of purple. He’s rumpled and bruised and dirty, but he’s beaming at Merlin like it’s Yuletide come early. 

“Nothing much. I knew you’d come.” Percival pulls a face. “Though so did Morgana. Where’s Arthur then?” 

Merlin can’t hide the worry that crosses his face, and Percival nods. “Ah. Is he off being stupidly noble?”

“Yes,” Merlin complains, and Percival laughs.

“Did you expect anything less?” Some of the light dims from Percival’s eyes. “Leon and Arthur are like brothers. Leon was terrified he was dead.”

“Leon is here then?” Merlin says hopefully.

Percival nods. “They took us both. We spent the first night in the cells together, but Morgana came and took Leon. Merlin, Morgana, she’s - “

Percival hesitates, trepidation flickering over his face. “I don’t even know where to begin to describe her. She’s half mad. Not that she wasn’t before, but this time it’s like she’s - “

He trails off, and Merlin feels his palms begin to sweat. 

Percival blinks, shaking his head. “Hopefully you won’t have to see it for yourself. Do you have the keys?”

Merlin runs back to the unconscious men and rummages through their pockets. He finds the keys easily enough, and runs back over, when a thought strikes him. “Percival, you’re not the only one in these dungeons.”

“Thanks for noticing,” one of Percival’s jail mates mutters

“I’ve been a bit busy, mate,” Merlin snaps, shoving the keys into the lock. “Percival, who are they?”

There are maybe ten other men in Percival’s cell. They all look a bit worse for wear.

Percival shrugs. “Morgana pays the bandits to bring her men.”

“For what?”

“I think she intends to build her own army,” Percival offers. “It’s where she got the idea to ambush us, I reckon. She certainly knows the right people to carry out something like that.”

Merlin gives the door a wrench and it creaks open. Percival clambers to his feet, wincing as he stretches his legs. Merlin feels something rise in his throat, as Percival clasps his shoulder with one large hand. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“Don’t mention it.”

They leave the cells doors open, free for the other men to make their escapes if they want to. It might even buy them some more time if Morgana’s men have to try and find them all again. 

Percival pauses by the four unconscious men. “Merlin. How did you - ?” 

Damn. He’s going to have to think of at least one plausible explanation.

“I.” Merlin casts around wildly. “I’ve been learning hand to hand combat.”

Percival stares at him.

“Arthur has been teaching me,” Merlin continues, warming to his story now. “I knew a little already, of course, from growing up in Ealdor. It’s a pretty defenceless village and I had to find a way to protect myself.”

He’s not sure if he’s a really good liar, or whether Percival has an undiagnosed head injury, but he seems to buy it.

They rush up the stairs. The other men follow suit, though they disperse pretty quickly, like rats deserting a sinking ship. 

Clearly none of them want to stick around. Even with his magic, Merlin at least feels a little better with Percival by his side. There’s some comforting about being accompanied by a man who could rip a door off his hinges.

“I think Arthur went this way,” Merlin pants, reaching the fork in the corridor he traveled down before. “But I don’t know any of this castle. Do you?”

Percival shakes his head. “I never saw much of it, they dragged us straight to the dungeons.”

“Okay.” Merlin pauses for a moment, trying to think. “Okay, what if we - “

There’s a loud clattering of swords, then angry shouting. Merlin doesn’t have time to move before a body is crashing into him. 

Merlin barely manages to stay upright, and his fist is clenched ready to wallop _ someone _ , when he realises the giant that bowled into him is _ Leon. _

“Leon?” Merlin squeaks, which is when Arthur comes racing into view. “What the hell happened - “

“Lets go,” Arthur shouts. He snags Merlin’s bicep, dragging him forward. “I don’t know how long she’ll be knocked out for!”

They all race down the corridor, feet pounding against the stone. Merlin’s head starts to pound after the first half a minute. He, unlike some people, does not exercise for hours at the crack of dawn. His lungs may actually be popping out of his chest.

He’d be worried about being left behind, if it wasn’t for Arthur’s hand, no longer wrapped around Merlin’s arm, but around his wrist instead.

“It’s good to see you, Percival,” Arthur grins, as they finally spill out into the fresh air. 

“And you, Arthur.”

“What the fuck is going on?” Merlin wheezes. 

Leon and Arthur look worse than Percival. Leon. has a nasty cut on the side of his head, which has split open and is dribbling crimson down his cheek. Arthur has a cut on his cheekbone that is rapidly bruising, and bloody knuckles. They both look like they went three rounds with a hurricane. 

“There’s no time to explain,” Arthur says firmly. “We need to leave, now.”

Merlin’s heart protests loudly at the thought of more running, Merlin’s magic must too, because there’s the sound of whinnying, then three horses come trotting towards them from the direction of the tower. 

They must have been tied to a post, because there’s rope dangling from their halters, as though it’s been sliced clean through. 

“The other prisoners must have set them free, to stop them being followed!” Percival whoops, at the same time Merlin mutters a small, “Oops.”

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses, whilst the knights are soothing their newly released steeds. “Would it kill you to show some fucking tact?”

“It’ll kill me to fucking run anywhere else!”

“How are you going to explain that?” Arthur demands, gesturing towards the horses.

It was stupidly reckless, but Merlin is pretty certain it wasn’t all intentional. Sometimes his magic acts instinctively, before he can stop it, especially when he’s stressed or scared or anxious. Like right now, so Arthur can shut up about it.

“Percival came up with his own explanation,” Merlin points out. 

“And he likely only believed it because he’s suffering a blow to the head!” Arthur snaps. “Do you want more people to find out your secret?”

Merlin is saved from answering by Leon and Percival arriving with the horses. Arthur shoots Merlin a glare, before seizing the reigns Leon hands him. “We don’t have much time, the sorcerer said she’d only be unconscious for a short time.”

For a bizarre moment, Merlin is sure Arthur is referring to him, and he does a double take. Unless he’s lost a sizeable chunk of his memory, he hasn’t actually ran into Morgana yet.

Then his brain catches up and Merlin gasps. “Wait, what? What sorcerer?”

Leon swings up into his saddle. “There was a sorcerer with Morgana, when Arthur was dragged in. I thought he’d - I thought for sure he was on her side.”

Merlin stares at him, but Leon doesn’t elaborate further, just looks pensive and uncertain.

“And what?” Merlin asks impatiently. “And he was on Morgana’s side? And he was really evil and we’re all really shocked? What?”

“And he helped us escape,” Arthur snaps. “We can relive it minute by minute, when we’re no longer running for our lives.”

Merlin gapes at the three of them. “He helped you escape?”

“Merlin, get on the horse!”

“I’m going back.”

“What?”

“I want to find out who it was, why would he - “

“Merlin!” Arthur bellows. “Get on the horse!”

“I just want to know why he helped you!” Merlin yells. 

“And I would like to not die painfully!” Arthur shouts back. 

“We really need to leave,” Leon interjects quickly, paling when both Arthur and Merlin swing their gazes to him. “I would also prefer to live, er. If possible.”

Arthur sets his jaw and holds out his arm. There’s only three horses, so Merlin has no choice but to grasp Arthur’s forearm and swing up behind him in the saddle.

“Let’s ride,” Arthur orders, and urges his horse forward into a gallop.

Merlin’s certain he hears Percival mutter, “thank fuck,” but it could just be the wind. 

  
  
  


-

They ride for what feels like hours. Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s waist and holds on tight. There isn’t any time for proprietary or awkwardness, not if you’re trying to avoid toppling from a horse and cracking your skull open. 

Merlin is too miserable to truly feel awkward anyway. If Arthur hadn’t found out about his magic, and didn’t now hate him, and if they hadn’t just all nearly been murdered, Merlin would probably be enjoying this. 

Arthur is strong and muscular, guiding his horse expertly through the forest. He’s warm against Merlin’s front, the heat of his skin bleeding through Merlin’s tunic. 

After a while, Merlin sighs and presses his cheek against Arthur’s shoulder blade. He’s exhausted and miserable and _he just doesn’t care anymore_. This could be the last time he gets to be this close to Arthur ever again, he may as well make the most of it. 

Arthur stiffens, but he doesn’t say anything. He relaxes after a moment, murmuring just loud enough to be heard over the wind rushing past. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Merlin sighs again. “I’m not.”

“Good.” Arthur’s voice is tight. “Are you hurt?”

“No.” Merlin reconsiders. “Well. Not anymore than I already was.”

The talk of injuries brings Merlin’s attention to Arthur’s own; Arthur’s cut has reopened. This close, Merlin has a good view of the corner of Arthur’s cheekbone and the droplet of blood trailing from it. 

“Arthur.” Merlin leans closer, Arthur barely hiding his shiver from Merlin’s voice in his ear. “Arthur, you’re bleeding. We should stop.” Merlin cranes his head behind him. “Percival and Leon look like they could do with a break too.”

They pull to a stop in a small clearing. Arthur dismounts first. Merlin follows after him, but his legs are wobbly. He stumbles, but a firm hand steadies his hip, gone as soon as it was there. By the time Merlin can react, Arthur has walked away and is conversing with Leon and Percival.

It’s still a day’s ride from Camelot, but they’re far away from Morgana, and that’s what counts. There’s a small pond nearby, though its waters are muddy. Still, it’s better than nothing, and Merlin starts tending Leon’s wounds. 

It’s not like they have any bandages, so Merlin rips off a strip of his cloak. He dips it into the water, grimacing slightly. “Sorry, Leon. I’ll tend to these properly when we’re back in Camelot.”

Merlin lifts his makeshift rag and pulls a face. “Honestly, we’ll be lucky if this pond water doesn’t give you a raging infection. Gaius had this case where - “

Leon winces. Merlin shuts his mouth abruptly. “Um. Sorry.”

Leon just waves a hand, the ghost of a smile playing around his mouth. He looks exhausted. From the way he’s been moving, Merlin is sure there are bruises on more than just his face.

“Hold still,” Merlin says unnecessarily. Leon, like all the knights do, holds stoically still and doesn’t flinch once. 

He cleans the cut as best he can. Leon utters a quiet thank you, then fetches Percival for him. 

Once Percival is done, Merlin clears his throats and asks casually, “Can you send Arthur over?”

Arthur is very blatantly standing within range for Merlin to call him over himself. 

Percival blinks at him. “Er. Sure. Sire?”

Arthur looks up. Percival gestures towards Merlin, then leaves himself, but not before shooting Merlin a puzzled glance.

Arthur has no choice but to walk over now that Percival has asked. He comes to a halt beside Merlin, before grudgingly lowering himself down on the rocks Merlin had been perching on.

He doesn’t say anything, but he does wrinkle his nose imperceptibly when Merlin rinses out his cloth.

“I’ve already told Percival and Leon I’ll check them over properly when we get back to Camelot,” Merlin advises him. 

Arthur nods, holding perfectly still as Merlin dabs at his face. There’s a long, stilted silence between them. Arthur won’t meet his gaze. From here, Merlin can see Leon and Percival have wandered over to the horses. 

“You’ll need your head wound cleaned again,” Arthur says abruptly. 

Merlin shrugs. “I know.”

“Why don’t you - “ Arthur begins, then cuts off. He looks frustrated with himself, teeth sinking into his lower lip. Arthur glances around furtively, making sure the knights are still some distance away. 

“Why don’t I what?” Merlin asks in confusion. 

“Why don’t you just heal yourself?” Arthur blurts. 

Startled, Merlin sits back. “Oh.”

Whilst Merlin is staring at him, Arthur reaches for the rag in his hand. “Give me that.”

Merlin hands it over, too shocked to do anything else. Arthur snorts in disgust. He drops the cloth on the ground, before taking his own cloak and tearing off a new strip.

Merlin swallows nervously. “Healing magic is - tricky. I find it harder to do it on myself.”

Arthur dips the strip of fabric in the pond. Merlin expects him to hand it back over, or for Arthur to start tending his wounds himself, no longer wanting Merlin to touch him. To his astonishment, Arthur holds the cloth out to Merlin’s face.

“W - what are you doing?” Merlin stammers.

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur says flatly. “Lean forward so I can clean your cut properly.”

Merlin does so tentatively. Arthur’s movements are practised, professionals. Blue eyes are focused on Merlin’s injury, and Merlin can feel himself grow flushed under the attention.

“You said it’s harder,” Arthur prompts after a moment.

Merlin gives himself a shake. “Yes, I - it’s easier to heal others. Especially if I care for the other person.”

Arthur’s eyes are unreadable. “Like Gwaine.”

Merlin hesitates. “Yes, like Gwaine.”

Arthur sits back. His gaze bores into Merlin’s. “You saved his life.”

When Merlin doesn’t reply, Arthur’s eyes narrow. “I know you saved his life.”

“Yes, I saved his life,” Merlin admits. “Gwaine was - Arthur, you didn’t see what they had done to him. There was so much blood, it was horrible - “

Bile rises in his throat, images suddenly flashing in front of his eyes. For a moment, he can feel the blood under his fingernails, can taste the coppery tang of it at the back of his throat.

“Merlin.” It takes Merlin a moment to realise Arthur has called his name. The lines around Arthur’s eyes and mouth have softened somewhat. “Merlin, Gwaine is safe. He is safe and well. Thanks to you.”

His heart is still kicking against his chest. Merlin shakes his head, as if he can dispel the awful memories. “I just - I just did what anyone would have done.”

Arthur lets out a breath. “No, Merlin, they wouldn’t.”

Merlin blinks. “What do you mean?”

Arthur scrubs a tired hand over his face. “I don’t know, Merlin. All I know is that I owe you my thanks for saving the life of one of my best knights. So thank you.”

Merlin’s throat feels suddenly tight. He doesn’t know what to say. 

“Arthur!” Leon calls, saving both of them from the heavy, overwhelming silence. “We should ride out. There is still a day’s ride to Camelot.” 

Arthur climbs to his feet. “We’ll travel through the eastern valleys. Then we can stop for the night, I have a tavern in mind.”

Leon hums. “You’d rather stay in a tavern then spend the night in the woods?”

“Well, for one.” Arthur hoists himself up on his horse. “You and Percival look ready to swoon if we don’t stop soon.”

Percival snorts in amusement. Leon shoves Arthur’s leg as he walks past.

“And secondly,” Arthur continues. “The more people there are, the better, it means we’ll blend in. It’s also the opposite of what Morgana expects us to do.”

“Not to mention we can sleep on something other than the floor,” Percival adds wistfully, and they all take a moment to sigh over the thought of spending the night on a mattress.

  
  
  


-

They put some distance between them and Morgana, before the landscape around them becomes more familiar. It’s not Arthur’s lands yet, but closer to them and Merlin is sure they’ve travelled through here on quests before.

The tavern lights glow like beacons, beckoning them closer. It’s bustling and busy, and no one pays any attention to four dirty stragglers, looking for a bed for a night. Arthur pays for two rooms and dinner, much to the delight of Merlin’s stomach. 

“I’m starving,” Percival groans, as they make their way to a table in the corner. “They didn’t exactly feed us, I’ve been living off scraps of bread for the past three days.”

Merlin glances at him worriedly. “Did she - “

“Not here,” Arthur says sharply. “We don’t know who's listening.”

They collapse into their seats. To Merlin’s surprise, Arthur chooses the seat beside Merlin. He has the chair beside the wall, meaning he’s essentially he’s boxed in. Arthur is doing a good job of appearing casual, but his eyes are scanning the room, then returning to Merlin, when he thinks Merlin isn’t looking. 

The food arrives and they fall on it like a pack of hungry wolves. It’s warm in the tavern, both from the lit fires and the swell of people. Merlin’s ears and cheeks had turned bright red from galloping through the forest, and he slowly feels himself begin to unthaw.

Finally, Arthur takes a long sip of his ale, then drops the cup on the table. “Take tonight to recover. You both need rest. Tomorrow, we’ll ride out after dawn. No one knows we’re here, but we can’t guarantee Morgana hasn’t sent her men to follow us. I know I don’t need to tell you to stay onguard.”

Leon and Percival nod grimly. Arthur drains his cup, then stands. “I brought us two rooms. Percival, you’re with me. Leon will share with Merlin.”

“_ What _?” Merlin and Percival blurt. Leon chokes on his drink and makes a valiant attempt to cover it up.

Hurt lashes through Merlin’s chest. He and Arthur always share a room, Merlin is Arthur’s _ manservant _. His destiny may have thrust him towards Arthur’s side, but it’s a basic job requirement, too. Every hunt, every quest, whether it’s an adjoining chamber in the castle of a noble they’re visiting, or two bedrolls beside the campfire.

Arthur sets his jaw. “You are both exhausted from your ordeals. Merlin and I are less injured, less weary. It makes sense for one of us to remain with you, to watch over you and allow you to rest fitfully.”

“That makes sense,” Leon agrees. “And I fear you’re right, as soon as my head hits a pillow, I’ll be no use to anyone.”

Percival makes a noise of agreement, though he shoots Arthur and Merlin a perplexed glance. Merlin crosses his arms and tries to fight back the burning in his eyes.

What Arthur said is completely reasonable, and maybe it’s the truth. It probably is the truth. Merlin has no reason to suspect it isn’t. 

Except for the fact Arthur knows about the magic now, and he probably hates Merlin, or is scared of him, or wants him banished. He clearly doesn’t even want to be in the same room as him, and it stings so badly that Merlin wants to burst into tears. 

He trails after the other three as they make their way up the stairs. Percival stumbles into his and Arthur’s room straight away, but Leon hangs back.

“Arthur.” Leon looks young in the dim light of the hall, eyes bruised with exhaustion. “Sire, I - “

Arthur’s brow furrows. “Leon, I know what you’re going to say. And you don’t have to say it. How many times have you saved my life?”

“That’s beside the point,” Leon sighs, and then pulls Arthur in for a hug. 

Arthur clasps his shoulders, pulling apart after a long moment. “I’m just glad we found you when we did.”

“Not as glad as I.” Leon glances over his shoulder. “You too, Merlin. Thank you. You’ve shown great bravery.”

Gods. Merlin really is going to cry now.

“Well. That’s. What’s life without a little adventure?” Merlin manages, like an absolute idiot, then sharply turns on his heel. 

He slams the door shut behind him. That’s doubly embarrassing, considering Leon is going to walk through that door in a few seconds, but Merlin couldn’t bear to look at Arthur’s face.

For a moment, grief engulfs him. A sob rises in his throat, and he doubles over with the pain of it. He shoves a knuckle into his mouth, biting down to muffle the sound.

Leon could be back at any moment. Merlin can’t fall apart, not here. Not now. He shoves everything down, buries it in his chest. 

There’s two beds and Merlin staggers towards one. He collapses on it and the mattress is soft. His left boot catches and he struggles to tug it off, and that nearly sets him off all over again.

When Leon walks in, Merlin is curled up beneath his blankets and doing a very convincing job of pretending he’s already fast asleep. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO MUCH ANGST
> 
> I was writing this chapter and was like. damn. not sure there's enough ust o far. not sure that i've got enough subtle hints in there that merlin and arthur like like each other. fair enough they've got a lot on their plate, and this is slowest possible slow burn, but i think i need to start building this up a bit more. so have these two pinning each other against walls and tending to each other's injuries. 
> 
> What was so interesting about this chapter is all Merlin’s assumptions about how’ve Arthur feels about him, when we all know Arthur doesn’t hate him (far from it), but Merlin doesn’t know that and he won’t know until Arthur tells him and Arthur isn’t going to tell you and like. What a mess. But also super interesting to both be in a characters head and also now that the other person isn’t really thinking. Idk if that makes sense. I guess I just wanted to reassure people that Arthur doesn’t hate Merlin. They just need to talk tm 
> 
> Idk if that made sense time to sleep now 
> 
> anyway comments are always massively appreciated! hope you enjoyed this chapter


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> angst angst a bit talking all the hugs exposition angst 
> 
> no magical creatures in this chapter either what a bummer
> 
> I’m thinking of updating the description for this fic, cause I’m shit at them but we’ll see

Merlin wakes to a hand gently shaking his shoulder. For a moment, his sleep muddled brain is sure it’s Arthur, but then he opens his eyes to see Leon standing above him. 

“It’s just after dawn,” Leon announces tiredly. 

Merlin rolls over and shoves his face into the pillow. “I’m pretty certain you’re meant to be sleeping in.” 

Leon snorts. “I tried. Hard to sleep through a bruised rib.”

Merlin sits up abruptly. “Do you think they’re broken?” 

Leon shakes his head. “No. I’ve broken them before, it was worse than this. I wouldn’t be able to sleep at all if that was the case.”

“Oh.” Merlin brightens. “Hey, I can bandage them properly if you like. There’s a basin in here, no pond water needed. Truly befitting a knight of Camelot.”

“You’re an odd one, Merlin,” Leon says, but his tone is kind. “I would appreciate that, thank you.”

The water from the basin is icy cold, but at least it’s clean. Merlin fixes Leon as best he can, trying not to react to the way Leon’s torso is painted with bruises.

He wakes up properly whilst attending to his task, yawning widely. There’s a pounding in his temples from his crying last night. His eyes feel swollen.

“Leon,” Merlin says a few minutes of comfortable silence. “Can I ask you something?”

Leon raises an eyebrow. “Of course. What is it?”

Merlin forgets sometimes, after living in Camelot so long, that most nobles aren’t like this. Most knights of the realm wouldn’t indulge a serving boy’s questions, not even one that belongs to the King. Sir Leon has a kind heart anyway, but Merlin knows the court follows Arthur’s example. 

And Arthur is always kind, even to the lowliest maid or the newest stable lad, barely eight years of age and shaking with nerves at the King’s approach. Merlin can remember it so clearly, Arthur kneeling down right there, in the straw, quietly asking the boy questions about his new job, until the lad couldn’t stop talking. 

Arthur is so different from his father, in so many ways. And Camelot is beginning to show it.

Merlin clears his throat. “It’s about the ambush.”

Leon’s eyes widen. “What about it?”

Merlin looks down at his feet. “Morgana knew we were coming. I heard the bandits talking, they wanted to bring some of us back. So that Arthur would have to come rescue us.”

Leon sighs. He leans forward, hands resting on his knees. “You think it was a trap.”

Merlin picks at a loose thread on his sleeve. “It _was_a trap.”

“Most Kings wouldn’t risk their life for a handful of men,” Leon says quietly. “Only someone who knew Arthur truly well, would know he would do anything for his knights.”

“And Morgana knew that,” Merlin finishes softly. “Morgana set the trap. She just needed men to carry it out for her.”

Leon doesn’t speak for a moment, a shadow passing over his face. “I saw how powerful her magic was last year, when she betrayed Uther and captured Camelot. But how she was in that castle - it’s as though - “

“As though what?” Merlin asks, stomach churning.

Leon shakes his head. “I don’t know how to explain it. It was as though the more she sickens, so does her magic.”

It’s jarring seeing Leon so rattled. Merlin wonders if it’s the talk of magic, or the talk of Morgana. Leon would have grown up with her, as Arthur did, a protector of the royal family long before Merlin ever stepped foot in Camelot.

Merlin draws his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his knees. “She knew we were coming.”

Leon runs a hand through his hair, tugging on the curls. “I believe you’re right.”

“And no one knew we intended to ride out,” Merlin continues boldly. “No one but the people in that meeting.”

“Of which there was only the knights, and a handful of the King’s advisers.”

“Exactly. And none of the knights who went on this quest had a great time.” Merlin holds up three fingers, ticking them off with each name. “You, got kidnapped, sustained a head injury, had to spend the night in a shitty tavern. Same goes for Percival. Gwaine, he had to ride back to Camelot on Apollo, covered in blood. It’s a bit far to go in the name of sabotage.”

Leon hums in agreement. “So we can rule out the knights. Which leaves the King’s advisers. Gaius - “

Merlin blinks, caught off guard. 

“Gaius would never do something like this!” Merlin protests hotly. 

“Yes, I know,” Leon says drily, and Merlin flushes, dialling down his temper. “Gaius would never betray Arthur. And he certainly wouldn’t put you in danger.” 

“Which leaves the King’s advisers.” Merlin pauses. “And me, I suppose. Um, it isn’t me, just for the record.”

Leon rolls his eyes. “We all know it isn’t you.”

For the second time in as many minutes, Merlin turns pink. “And if it’s not me, that means it’s someone else.”

The moment feels loaded. Merlin twists his hands in his tunic, looking up at Leon anxiously.

“You think it’s Agravaine.”

“I do.”

Leon sighs. “So do I.”

Merlin lets out a rush of breath. Leon may be Arthur’s friend, and Merlin’s too he’s realising, but he’s still accusing a member of the royal household. 

“He’s the next in line to the throne,” Leon says. “Uther had no siblings. Morgana’s claim to Camelot will never be accepted. Arthur has no heirs.” 

“And I bet he hates Uther for his brother’s death,” Merlin muses. “Uther killed Tristan. And - and his sister, or at least that’s what Tristan believed. He has every motive, we just don’t have any proof.”

“No, we don’t.” Leon’s brow furrows. “And something tells me we’ll never be able to prove someone betrayed us.”

Merlin rubs his eyes. “Gwaine rode back to Camelot, Agravaine will know by now that Arthur is still alive. And you. Even if he suspects we won’t return, he will have destroyed all the evidence. Just to be certain.”

Leon’s mouth twists. “No one can accuse Agravaine of not being thorough.”

“No, just a suspicious little bastard,” Merlin mutters. 

“He is that,” Leon agrees, and the both stare at each other morosely. 

“Why are you telling me this?” Leon asks abruptly. 

Merlin shrugs. “Because it’s your job to keep Arthur safe.”

And because I might not be around to do that, Merlin thinks bitterly. Because I need someone in Camelot who knows the truth, who will have Arthur’s back if I’m no longer permitted to step foot in the city.

“And because we can never tell Arthur,” Merlin adds. “Not unless we have some real evidence. It’s his _ mother’s _brother. It’ll break his heart, and I won’t put him through that unless we know for certain. We could still be wrong.” 

“And it’ll put Arthur in more danger if Agravaine suspects he knows,” Leon says grimly. “I don’t like keeping things from the King, but until we have tangible proof, Agravaine remains a member of the royal family.”

“Then we’re agreed. We’ll both keep an eye on Arthur’s uncle. And if we find any proof we - we tell Arthur.”

“Agreed.”

Merlin lets out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. It’s a relief, a small one, something to hold close if he’s forced to walk back to Ealdor.

Leon will still be here, he thinks furiously, fighting off the stinging in his eyes. Even if you’re not.

  
  


-

  
  
  


The ride back to Camelot is uneventful, if exhausting. Arthur manages to barter for another horse, so Merlin spends the journey staring at the back of Arthur’s head from the saddle of his new steed. 

It takes the better part of a day, and they’re all thoroughly wiped by the first glimpse of Camelot’s spires.

The sight of them makes something flicker in Merlin’s chest. Those towers are so familiar, such a commonplace view. Camelot itself may be the same, but Merlin isn’t. So much has happened, so much has changed in this past week. Merlin isn’t the man who left this city, he’s someone else now.

And whatever was between him and Arthur has changed, what was once solid and steady is now flickering, intangible, like smoke slipping through your fingers.

Hooves clatter against the stone courtyard and the noise rings in Merlin’s ears.

“We made it,” Leon murmurs, voice tinged with disbelief.

Arthur orders Leon and Percival straight to Gaius; if their wounds are infected, a good night’s sleep can wait until they’ve been checked over. 

Night has fallen by now, but several servants come rushing out to meet them, likely awakened by the noise. Two men support Leon and Percival on their way to the infirmary. The rest of the servants collect the horses and lead them off; the poor beasts are as shattered as they are.

Arthur waves away the remaining servants, urging them to return to their beds. “It’s late. There is no need to awaken the entire castle. I will retire to my chambers and shall call a council meeting tomorrow morning.”

Arthur waits until only he and Merlin are alone in the courtyard, before taking a step towards the stairs. It’s only because Merlin is standing so close that he sees the way Arthur stumbles, the way his legs give out beneath him. He recovers within a moment, planting his feet firmly apart. 

“Arthur!” Merlin whispers in alarm. He rushes to Arthur’s side, grasping his arm.

“I’m fine,” Arthur grits out. “I’m just tired.”

“Come on,” Merlin urges, and Arthur doesn’t protest. 

Merlin helps Arthur through the corridors. There is no one about, but Merlin is careful with the arm he slings around Arthur’s waist, careful to make it appear as though Arthur is the one supporting him. He wonders distantly if they’ve alerted Agravaine; probably not, Merlin decides. He’d be here if they had, swanning around with his smug smile and his greasy hair.

Alternatively, Agravaine may have been informed Arthur is back, and is lurking in his chambers instead, using the rest of the night’s hours to plot his next move. 

They stumble through the doors of Arthur’s chambers, Merlin slamming the door shut behind them with a little too much force. Arthur slips out from under Merlin’s arm, staring at the walls in front of him like he can’t quite believe they are there. 

It’s quiet. There are no candles lit, the room wrapped in shadows. 

Arthur strips off his shirt unceremoniously, striding towards the bed. He dumps it on the floor, and Merlin would moan, but that shirt is fit for burning. Merlin’s clothes too. 

Arthur’s back is silver in the moonlight; muscled and strong and tempered with pale scars. 

“Go to bed, Merlin,” Arthur says quietly. 

Merlin’s throat feels dry. “Do you not want me to - “

“You need to rest.” Arthur kicks off his boots, pulling back the covers. “I won’t need you to serve me in the morning.”

Merlin inhales. “What? Don’t you want me to - “

“You are relieved of your usual duties. I’m sure I can manage to dress myself tomorrow. Take the morning off.”

He may as well have punched Merlin in the chest, the pain feels the same. Merlin doesn’t know what to say to that, so he simply turns on his heel and leaves.

Merlin throws open the doors to Gaius’ chambers. 

Gaius, stood there in his nightgown, looks up in surprise. “Merlin!”

“Arthur knows!” Merlin manages, and that’s when he bursts into tears. 

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Gaius fusses over Merlin, draping a blanket around his shoulders and shoving a hot bowl of stew at him. It’s the middle of the night, but Gaius has a knack of always magicking up hot food from somewhere. He presses one withered hand to Merlin’s cheek, frowning at his cuts and bruises. 

Gaius mumbles under his breath as he bustles around him, murmuring about remedies and tonics. It’s immensely comforting. Merlin sinks into his chair, wrapping his hands around the bowl and letting the warmth sink into him. Gaius’ kind words and his caring gestures are a benediction all of their own.

“Eat up, my boy,” Gaius is saying. “You were gone for so long, then when Gwaine arrived in Camelot alone, we all feared - “

“Gwaine made it back?” Merlin gasps, dropping his spoon. “Is he alright?”

“He is,” Gaius assures him. “Though I imagine you had something to do with that?”

Merlin stares at the table. “Gwaine knows too.”

Gaius drops his own spoon. “What?”

“I saved his life with my magic,” Merlin says dully. “He was going to die.”

Gaius pinches his nose. “Merlin, is there anyone you _ didn’t _reveal your magic to this week?”

Merlin, to his horror, tears up all over again. Gaius looks even more horrified at being the cause of Merlin’s blubbering, and rushes over to him. “Merlin, I only meant - “

“It’s fine,” Merlin sobs, distinctly not fine. “I just never - I didn’t plan for it to be like this.”

Gaius wraps an arm around his shoulder. “Life often doesn’t care a lot about the plans we make.”

Merlin sniffs. “I know. But I didn’t want him to find out this way.”

“How did he find out?” Gaius hesitantly asks.

Merlin scrubs at his face with his sleeve. “He figured it out on his own, mostly. There were all these magic creatures, and I - I guess I didn’t exactly hide my reaction to them. Gwaine’s wound was pretty suspicious, we were both covered in his blood, but he walked away with a few bandages. Arthur just - put it all together.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully. “Arthur’s enemies have often underestimated how sharp that boy is. Some of his friends, too.”

“They all think he’s stupid, but he’s not,” Merlin mumbles. “There’s been so many near misses, so many lucky coincidences. Once he had his suspicions, all the pieces fitted together.”

“And what did he say?” Gaius presses gently. “When he found out?”

Merlin shrugs miserably. “He said we couldn’t talk about it, that we needed to focus on saving Leon and Percival. We had a bit of an argument about it the next morning.”

Gaius pauses, before asking in a strained voice, “Did he hurt you?”

“No.” Merlin shakes his head vehemently. “No, nothing like that. He just - ignores me mostly. Or talks to me like a stranger. Like I’m just a servant.”

Neither of them correct that; they both know Merlin has never been just a servant to Arthur. 

“He asked about my healing magic,” Merlin remembers distantly. “Asked why I couldn’t heal myself. And he thanked me.”

Gaius’ eyes widen. “Thanked you?”

“For saving Gwaine’s life.” Merlin stares down at his stew, suddenly not hungry. “He said not everyone would have done that.”

“Well, that’s - that’s positive,” Gaius says slowly. 

“Yeah,” Merlin says flatly. “And now he’s back to pretending I don’t exist. He even told me that I don’t have to serve him tomorrow, I have the morning off.”

“That’s - you must be exhausted, Merlin. Perhaps he wants you to rest, to recuperate from your ordeal - “

“I told Leon my suspicions about Agravaine,” Merlin blurts.

Gaius blinks. “I see. And did he - “

“Someone else needs to know,” Merlin interrupts. His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, catching in his throat. “If Arthur banishes me, someone else needs to be able to protect him.”

“I don’t think Arthur plans to - “

“He might as well sack me now,” Merlin chokes, and starts crying all over again.

Gaius pulls him into a tight embrace. Merlin hides his face in Gaius’ shoulder like a little boy and sobs his heart out. All the pain, all the worry and the exhaustion overtakes him, comes pouring out of him like a dam has been broken. 

Gaius holds him tightly, rocking him back and forth. Merlin quiets eventually, gasping breaths dissolving into shaky hiccups. 

When Merlin finally pulls away, the pressure in his chest has gone. Merlin is left with a gaping hole in his heart. He is so emotionally exhausted that his physical body aches with it, his eyelids suddenly weighing a thousand pounds. 

“You need to sleep, Merlin.” Gaius passes a hand over Merlin’s hair, resting it on his shoulder. “I won’t promise things will be resolved in the morning, but you will feel better after a proper night’s sleep.”

Merlin sighs, limbs heavy as he folds them beneath him. “I might as well. It’s not as though Arthur needs my services tomorrow morning.”

Somewhere along the way, the bitterness in his tone has twisted. He just sounds sad now. Sad and tired. 

Gaius helps him into bed. He’s saying something soothing, but Merlin has switched off by now. He doesn’t listen to Gaius’ words, just burrows his face into his pillow. It smells familiar, and Merlin sinks into it.

He’s asleep as soon as his eyes close.

  
  
  


-

  
  


His entire body aches the next morning. 

Merlin contemplates rolling over in bed and never leaving, but eventually decides against it. He stares at the ceiling for a bit instead. Counts the cracks in the plaster. Thinks about how much Arthur hates him. Pulls the blankets over his head and thinks some more.

He can’t hide in his room forever. After a long, long moment, Merlin drags himself to his feet. 

Merlin cracks his door open reluctantly, then blinks at the person sprawled at Gaius’ table. “Gwaine?”

“Merlin!”

Gwaine rushes towards him, pulling him into a fierce hug. Merlin clings back desperately. “Gwaine, you’re okay!”

Gwaine pulls back, beaming at him. His hair flops over his eyes; he looks young, and it makes something tug in Merlin’s chest. He’s so glad Gwaine is alive. So glad that his magic could do something good and pure like this.

“All thanks to you!” Gwaine grins.

Gaius coughs behind them, and Gwaine smiles sheepishly. “Oops. Sorry, Gaius.”

Gaius heaves a great sigh. “It appears there are now two of you.” At Merlin’s confused look, Gaius pointedly closes the door to his chambers. “Two fools without an ounce of subtlety between them.”

“Sorry, Gaius,” Gwaine says again, flopping back down into a chair. “At least it’s only two fools you have to worry about. Merlin here saved my life, his secret is safe with me.”

Merlin sighs. “Arthur knows.”

Gwaine goes very still. Merlin wanders over to the bench, slumping down.

“What do you mean Arthur knows?” Gwaine says, a dangerous edge to his voice. 

Merlin crosses his arms and rests his head on the table. “Arthur knows.”

Gwaine sounds a little hysterical now. “About your magic?”

“No, about my gambling addiction,” Merlin snaps irritably. “Yes, about my magic!”

Gwaine turns pale. Merlin immediately feels bad for snapping at him. It’s not Gwaine’s fault. “Sorry.”

Gwaine stands up abruptly. “Do we need to leave?”

Merlin looks up at him, frowning in confusion. Gwaine waves a hand impatiently. “I can smuggle a horse from the stables. I’ve got plenty of friends who know where to go when you don’t want to be found.”

Realisation dawns on Merlin, followed quickly by a rush of gratitude. “Oh, no, Gwaine. It’s alright.”

Gwaine’s hand twitches at his side, as though reaching for a sword that isn’t there. “So Arthur isn’t lighting the pyres as we speak?”

“Gwaine!” Gaius hisses. 

Merlin shrugs. “Not that I know of.”

“Not that you know of?” Gwaine repeats in disbelief. 

Merlin thunks his forehead against his crossed arms. He doesn’t really want to have this conversation today, doesn’t want to have this conversation ever. “No.”

He can tell Gwaine and Gaius are exchanging worried glances. There’s the sound of hushed whispers, before Gwaine takes a seat next to him.

After a moment, Gwaine awkwardly pats Merlin on the back. “Merlin. If you want to leave Camelot, we can. I’ll go with you.”

“Thanks,” Merlin mutters, and he genuinely means it. “But that’s the problem, I don’t want to leave Camelot.”

Gwaine hums. “Did you save his life as well? Is that how he found out?”

“He put it together himself.”

“Ah.” Gwaine doesn’t sound surprised. More resigned. “The princess always was smarter than he looked.”

Merlin just grunts. Gwaine makes a worried noise in the back of his throat; Merlin gets the impression that neither Gaius and Gwaine knows what to do with him. That’s okay; Merlin doesn’t know what to do with himself either. 

He’s felt beaten before, exhausted and weary with the weight of his destiny bearing down on him. But this is the first time Merlin has felt so listless; untethered, like an anchor that’s been cut. Right now, just pulling on his boots feels insurmountable. 

“Arthur really cares about you,” Gwaine says finally. “I know I said about us running away, but I don’t - I don’t believe he’d ever truly hurt you.”

Gwaine rests his hand on Merlin’s shoulder. In the mood he’s in, the last thing Merlin wants is to be touched, but he’s too tired to move away. 

“The law remains the same.” Merlin’s voice is muffled. “Magic is outlawed in Camelot. Arthur is going to banish me. He hates me now anyway.”

Gwaine’s grip tightens. “Why do you think Arthur hates you?”

Merlin sits up abruptly. “Oh, I don’t know. Because I have magic, because I lied to him for years. Because _ I have magic. _Because magic is wrong and dangerous and evil.”

Gwaine shakes his head. “Magic isn’t evil, it can’t be - “

“How would you know?” Merlin cuts in sharply, and Gwaine falls silent. “How would any of you know?”

Merlin hates this. He hates this so much, hates how all this misery and worry and grief is twisting him into little pieces. 

“You should go, Gwaine,” Merlin says quietly. “I’m sorry for dragging you into all of this.”

Gwaine shakes his shoulder. “You didn’t drag me into anything, Merlin, you saved my life. And Arthur is a fool if he can’t see how many times you’ve done the same for him.”

Merlin can’t bear to look at him. “I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“Okay, Merlin,” Gwaine agrees quietly, and leans closer so their sides are pressed together.

After a moment, Merlin clears his throat. “How are you wounds? Are they healing well?”

Gwaine pulls up his shirt, showing his bandaged torso. “Hurt like hell riding over here, but sure beats being dead. Gaius bandaged me up as soon as I got back to Camelot.”

“I’m glad you’re okay,” Merlin rubs at his eyes tiredly. “I have to get ready. Arthur is calling a council meeting later.”

He climbs to his feet, one hand on the back of his chair for balance. Gwaine’s hand falls from his shoulder. 

“Merlin, you haven’t had any breakfast yet,” Gaius says worriedly.

“I’ll have some later,” Merlin lies, and turns on his heel. “Thanks for coming to see me, Gwaine.”

The door to Merlin’s room swings closed on their anxious faces. 

  
  
  
  


-

  
  
  


Seeing Arthur hurts now. 

It’s like an open wound, raw and exposed, and every glimpse of Arthur’s clear blue eyes feels like a knife sliding deeper between his ribs. 

Merlin is very, very good at hiding how he feels. Slipping into his usual role is simple. He stands just to the left of Arthur’s chair. He folds his hands behind his back. He fixes his gaze on a spot on the far wall. 

It’s almost easier to just lose himself in the act of being the King’s servant. Merlin has stood through a hundred council meetings; the mundaity of it all is in a lot of ways a reprieve. 

Agravaine fawns over Arthur’s return. Merlin is glad his hands are folded behind his back, because it keeps his clenched fists hidden. Now that Merlin is looking for it, he can see how Leon holds himself warily, the way his gaze flickers with contempt, far too quick for anyone who wasn’t looking to notice. 

“Arthur! We are most relieved to see your safe return.” Agravaine gestures towards Gwaine. “When your knight returned alone, we feared the worst.”

Gwaine doesn’t look particularly enamoured with Agravaine either, though Merlin suspects Gwaine just sees Agravaine as another poncy royal with no substance. Right now, Gwaine is observing Agravaine the way one might observe a pile of horse dung. 

“And I am relieved to be here,” Arthur returns graciously. “Though I fear I would not be, without the bravery of my knights, and of my manservant, also.”

Merlin, who had been counting the cracks in the wall to resist counting the glints of gold in Arthur’s hair, jumps in surprise. 

Leon ducks his head. “Thank you, Sire.”

Merlin is standing behind Arthur, so he can’t see the expression on his King’s face. He can feel his own cheeks burning, though, heat rushing to his head. 

“I know many of you have questions about our journey,” Arthur continues. “It appears the bandits were in league with Morgana.”

A hush falls over the room at the mention of her name. Arthur’s shoulder slump, just barely, before he straightens his back. “The bandits took Sir Leon and Sir Percival as hostages, in the hopes I would follow and rescue my men. Sir Gwaine was grievously injured and had to return to Camelot.”

“I just thought I’d let you boys have all the fun for once,” Gwaine announces, and half the council have to hide their laughter. 

The other half look at Gwaine like he’s a stain they would rather remove. Most of the council have accepted Arthur’s rule, welcomed it even, along with the changes he has implemented. But there are those who prefer Uther’s way of ruling, think Arthur soft for not chopping the hands off peasant boys who steal. Who believe Arthur is too lenient because he doesn’t tax his people within a - literal - inch of their lives. 

And they are the ones who despise magic the most, who sat through the Great Purge and didn’t flinch when the pyres were lit. Merlin has never thought to ask what happened to the council members during Morgana’s brief reign. The knights were thrown in dungeons, he knows that, and Leon told Merlin that Morgana ordered her guards to fire on the people. 

Merlin settles back on his heels, and mentally starts to make notes of all Uther’s most staunch supporters. Leon is going to need it. 

“Where did Morgana take you?” Agravaine queries. 

“She was hiding in a ruined fortress in the northern lands,” Leon explains. “She has grown weak following her attack on Camelot, but she was no less dangerous. If anything, her madness means her control over her magic had - lessened.”

Leon pauses. “Or rather, that is how it appeared, to me. Obviously, I don’t know the inner workings of sorcery.”

Arthur clears his throat. “Quite.”

“Obviously,” Gwaine agrees casually. 

“It may be that as her mind deteriorates, so does her control over her magic, Sire,” Gaius interrupts loudly. “There are - recorded cases of such a phenomenon.”

Arthur sighs. “A cornered animal is always more dangerous. We would be foolish to underestimate her, injured or not. As it is, it was only the effort of my men and I that meant we escaped.”

“Forgive me for asking, but how exactly did you escape, Sire?” Agravaine asks, eyes wide in respectful curiosity.

Merlin would like to respectfully kick Agravaine between the legs. 

“With great skill and not a small amount of luck,” Arthur answers mildly. “Once Sir Percival was freed, we ambushed her. Though she used her powers against us, I was able to knock her out with a blow from behind.”

Agravaine inhales. “Really?”

Arthur laughs. “Surely you do not doubt my story, Uncle?” He tilts his head to one side. “I am far too old to make up stories of my own heroics. I shall leave that to Sir Gwaine.”

This earns him a laugh from the council, Agravaine’s face falling into a deferential smile. Merlin feels his lip curl with satisfaction; Arthur is far better at this game than he ever lets anyone believe.

Arthur spreads his hands, proceeding with a pleasant tone. “Like I said, luck played a part in it. As did Morgana’s own weakness, her unfocused mind. But the knights and I have faced such threats before, in battle you must think on your feet.”

With a handful of sentences, Arthur has appeared humble, but confident, honest, but experienced, and interjected a subtle reminder of the wars he has fought before. Add in his joke about Sir Gwaine, and Arthur has the council eating out of the palm of his hand. 

Pride burns fiercely in Merlin’s chest. Of course, Agravaine is skilled as this game, too. He makes a comment about never doubting Arthur, spins the topic back to further details about the mission and next steps. 

Not once, does Arthur mention the sorcerer that helped them defeat Morgana. Percival and Leon don’t correct Arthur’s retelling either, and it dawns on Merlin that only the four of them truly know what happened with that castle. He doesn’t know why Arthur’s keeping that particular detail hidden, but then he and Arthur aren’t exactly sharing secrets at the moment. 

Arthur concludes the meeting with instructions of doubling the guards. No one is to travel out into the forest alone, and all messages in and out of the castle are to be checked. 

When everyone has trickled out the great hall, only Arthur and Merlin are left. Sunlight spills through the windows and Arthur stands, red cape fanning out behind him. 

Merlin can’t help the words that slip from his mouth. “They always underestimate you.”

Arthur pauses, looking up at Merlin from under his lashes. The corner of his mouth curves. “Saw that, did you?”

“I was watching,” Merlin admits softly, and Arthur shakes his head in amusement. “Too many people underestimate you.”

“But not you,” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin’s throat suddenly feels tight. “No, not me. I always - I always see you for who you are.”

For some reason, Arthur’s face falls at that. “Oh.”

Merlin blinks. For a moment, in the hazy warm rays of the sun, it almost felt like they could piece things back together.

But instead, Arthur straightens his cape, face hidden from Merlin’s view as he strides past him. Merlin is left feeling like he missed a step on the stairs, and has no idea why.

  
  
  


-

  
  
  


The next three days go like this. 

Merlin completes his duties as the King’s manservant. He cleans Arthur’s chambers, he exercises his horses, he polishes Arthur’s armour.

He and Arthur say nothing to each other, nothing that isn’t absolutely necessary and in a tone so perfunctory it puts George to shame. It’s awful. 

He and Arthur don’t touch, and it’s a testament to how off kilter Merlin feels that Merlin retrospectively realises he and Arthur touch. A lot. Like. All the time.

Arthur ruffles his hair. Arthur play fights with him, and checks him for a temperature, and pulls Merlin’s hood up and lets his fingers brush against Merlin’s cheeks. Merlin straightens Arthur’s collar, and shoves his arm when he’s annoyed, and tugs at his hand when he wants to show him something. 

It’s really awful. 

For once, the whole coin metaphor doesn’t seem that dramatic. Merlin spends the day _ doing things, _but doesn’t feel anything whilst doing it, and then lies in bed until the early hours, utterly exhausted but utterly unable to sleep. 

It comes to a head that Saturday. 

Merlin is sitting at the table, pushing some porridge around with his spoon. Gaius is trying not to look worried, which just makes the guilt that coats his chest choke him more.

“Merlin, please eat something. You’re getting thin.”

He wants to say he’s not hungry, but Gaius looks so pleading that Merlin shovels a spoonful into his mouth. 

Gaius looks a little appeased. “Merlin, I want you to know I’m always here for you. I haven’t pushed these past few days, because I didn’t know if you were ready to talk. But you must have a lot on your mind.”

Merlin mashes up some more of his porridge. 

“Has Arthur said anything to you?” Gaius tries.

His porridge is officially sludge by now. “No. Arthur doesn’t say anything to me anymore.”

“Oh. What about you, have you said anything to him?”

Merlin drops his spoon. “I don’t think he wants to hear anything I have to say.”

Gaius opens his mouth to reply, only to be interrupted by a knock at the door. A serving girl enters, and Merlin goes back to mutilating his breakfast.

“Can I help you?” Gaius asks. 

“I have a message for the King’s manservant,” the girl explains.

When Merlin doesn’t answer, Gaius waves at the girl to continue. “What is the message?”

The girl looks uncertain but nods. “The King won’t need attending to today.”

Merlin drops his spoon with a clatter.

“Thank you for delivering the message,” Gaius says hurriedly. “You can - “

“He what,” Merlin says flatly.

The girl smiles. “He’s giving you the day off.”

Merlin stares at her. 

Gaius gets up from the table, ushering the girl from the room. “That’s really very generous, His Majesty - “

“I don’t want it,” Merlin snaps. “Take it back.”

The girl blinks. “Take it back?”

“Yes.” Something hot is stirring in Merlin’s blood. “I don’t want the message.”

“Um, I don’t - “

“Tell him you couldn’t find me,” Merlin suggests, shoving his chair back. “Or that you forgot the message. I don’t want a bloody - “

“Thank you so much for letting us know,” Gaius says loudly, propelling the girl through the door and slamming it shut. The moment it closes, he whirls on Merlin. “Merlin, you cannot speak to - what are you doing?”

For the first time in a long time, Merlin no longer feels nothing, he feels ready _ to punch Arthur in the face. _ He’s never felt so incandescently anger in his _ life _; it’s like something has flipped and now his blood is boiling.

Merlin slams his hand down on the table. “A day off. A _ day off!” _

Gaius wrings his hands. “Merlin, please calm down. Perhaps Arthur is just being thoughtful - “

“I’m not letting him ignore me anymore!” Merlin snarls. “It just makes me feel shit, and waiting for Arthur to banish me is _ shit _, and I’m sick of all of this!”

“Merlin, please just - “

“I’d like to see him ignore this!” Merlin says, with only a hint of hysteria, and storms out of the room.

The dull ache he felt is gone, in its place a heady concoction of fury and adrenaline. This is it, Merlin decides, storming down the corridor. He’s dead or banished either way, so what does it matter? Arthur is going to acknowledge him, acknowledge his magic, and then Merlin will leave himself. He never wanted to leave Arthur, never, but he can’t _ do _this anymore. He can’t act like Arthur means nothing to him, when Arthur is everything - 

Merlin throws the doors open to Arthur’s rooms.

Arthur looks up in alarm. He’s sat on his bed, reading through parchments, and the sudden noise has him reaching for the knife under the pillows that only Arthur and Merlin know about.

“If you’re going to banish me, you can bloody well do it yourself!” Merlin yells at him.

Arthur stares at him. 

Merlin slams the door shut behind him. “I mean it, Arthur, if you’re going to banish me, just hurry up and do it!”

“Banish you?” Arthur repeats in alarm. 

“Yes, banish me!” Merlin shouts, his voice wavering. “I know that’s what you want to do, so just get on with it!”

Arthur stands jerkily, all the parchments falling to the floor. When he speaks, his voice is very quiet. “Merlin, if you - if you want to leave, I won’t stop you.”

That throws Merlin a little, but he’s still so furious, so brimming with this emotion he can’t name, that it doesn’t really register. 

“You can’t ignore me forever, Arthur! I’d rather not be here at all, then wait for you to exile me. But you could at least not be a coward and look me in the eyes when you kick me out!”

Confusion flickers over Arthur’s face and he strides forward. “Will you stop saying that!”

“Saying what!”

“Exile,” Arthur hisses. “Banishment, whatever you want to call it. I told you, I won’t force you to stay! I’d never do that, haven’t I done enough - ” 

His voice breaks on the last word, and Arthur jerks his face away. 

Merlin is astonished to see Arthur’s eyes shining with tears. It yanks him to a halt. “I - wait, what?”

Arthur shakes his head. “You’d have nothing to fear if you left. I wouldn’t hunt you down, I’d never - I’d leave you in peace.” He swallows. “Gwaine too.”

Merlin’s head is starting to spin. “What has Gwaine got to do with this?”

Arthur continues like he hasn’t heard him. His bottom lip is trembling. “Is that why you haven’t left yet? Because you were scared I’d come after you? Because I’d never - “

“Arthur.” Merlin has no idea what is happening. “What the fuck are you talking about?”

Arthur sets his jaw, eyes burning like blue fire. “I’m so sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin’s legs give out.

He just about manages to keep his balance, but his thighs are shaking with the effort to keep upright. “What?”

“I’m sorry if you thought you couldn’t leave.” Arthur runs a hand through his hair. “I tried to give you your space this week. I understand why you couldn’t - why you didn’t want to be around me.”

Merlin gapes at him. “You ignored me for three days straight, because you thought that was what _I_ wanted?”

“You don’t have to spare my feelings,” Arthur murmurs. “I know what my father has done to your people, what I did - what I allowed to happen. I understand why you wouldn’t want to look me in the eye.”

Merlin gasps. “Arthur.”

Arthur flinches. “Not that this is about me, I’m not trying - that sounds like I was trying to make you pity me, but I swear, Merlin, that isn’t what I meant. I just meant - I know why you want to leave, and I wouldn’t stop you.”

“Why do you keep saying that?” Merlin asks, and his breath hitches. 

Arthur blinks. “Saying what?”

“That I want to leave.”

Arthur frowns. “Because - because you do?”

Tears spill over Merlin’s cheeks. “No, I don’t.”

Arthur rubs at his own eyes. “Merlin, I told you, you have nothing to fear from me. You are free to leave, I won’t stop you - “

“I don’t want to leave.”

“What?”

“I have never wanted to leave,” Merlin breathes. He staggers over to a chair, collapsing into it. “How could you ever think that?”

Arthur’s eyes go wide. “Merlin, why would you want to _ stay _?”

All the air is punched from Merlin’s lungs. He stares at Arthur helplessly. 

Arthur stares, gaze equally disbelieving. “Merlin, my father killed hundreds of your kind. And I stood back and watched. I _ helped _.”

“Not always,” Merlin argues. “You defied your father all the time, the druid boy - “

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts softly. “This isn’t about me. I’m not trying to excuse myself, or absolve myself of guilt by having you defend me. This is about you. All the pain you’ve suffered, all the fear - “

A single tear travels down Arthur’s cheek, shining in the sunlight that filters into the room. 

Arthur closes his eyes briefly. “I left you alone this week, because I knew you wouldn’t want to see me. It was the only kindness I had left to offer.”

“Arthur - “

“You called me a coward earlier.” Arthur shakes his head. “And you were right. I left you alone to respect your wishes, but I also couldn’t bear to see you and know how you must hate me.”

“Arthur,” Merlin manages. “Arthur, I thought you hated me.”

Arthur blinks at him, lashes wet. “What?”

“I thought that’s why you were ignoring me,” Merlin explains slowly. “Because I’m a sorcerer and magic is evil, and you never wanted to see me again.”

Arthur frowns at him. “But I told you’d we’d talk about your magic.”

“And then you ignored me!”

“Because I thought it was what you wanted!” Arthur argues, dropping his face into his hands. “Believe me, Merlin, I know full well I’m not the injured party here.”

“But I - I never told you about my magic.”

Arthur snorts. “There wasn’t exactly ever an opportune time, was there?” Arthur’s eyes shutter. “I’m glad you didn’t tell me when my father was alive, if he’d ever found out - if he’d ever suspected - “

Arthur shudders, a shadow passing over his face. “I thought I was angry at you at first, angrier than I’d ever been. But then I realised it wasn’t anger - it was fear. Fear at what my father could have done to you, fear that I wouldn’t have been brave enough - “

He chokes on the last word. Merlin’s temples are pounding. “But at the inn. You slept in a different room.”

Arthur gives him an odd look. “Because Percival has a concussion, and someone needed to wake him up every hour to check he wasn’t dead. And there was no way Leon was capable of doing that, he almost passed out in the halfway.” 

There’s a tentative, warm flicker of something burning in Merlin’s chest.

“Why would you ask about the inn?” Arthur asks in confusion. 

Merlin looks at him, properly looks at him. Arthur’s brow is furrowed, soft lips gently parted. He’s staring at Merlin like he’s a puzzle box he can’t quite solve, but with that steely determination that means he won’t stop until he does. 

“I thought,” Merlin says tremulously, “that you didn’t want to share with me, because you now hated me.”

“Did you see the bruise on Percival’s head - “ Arthur begins, but then he stills. 

He looks over to Merlin, but Merlin never looked away, couldn’t look away now if he wanted to, not when Arthur’s eyes soften like that.

“Oh,” Arthur says softly, and then, “_Merlin _.”

Merlin is going to cry again.

“Were you very angry with me?” Merlin says quietly.

“I don’t know what I am, you silly creature,” Arthur replies, and he sounds so fondly exasperated that Merlin’s breath catches in his throat. “I told you I have no idea how to feel about this. I still don’t, I mean it, Merlin, I still need time.”

“I know,” Merlin blurts, scrubbing at his eyes. “I know it’s a shock - “

“As do you,” Arthur adds. “I meant what I said before, I know it’ll take time for you to trust me - “

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupts. “Would you just - could you - “

Arthur tilts his head to one side. “What is it?”

Hold me, Merlin thinks, or maybe he says it, or maybe Arthur just reads it in his eyes, because then they’re hurtling towards each other. 

Merlin throws himself at Arthur, but Arthur catches him and bears his weight easily, as though Merlin weighs nothing at all.

Merlin fists his hands into Arthur’s shirt, burying his face in his neck. Strong arms encircle Merlin’s waist, holding him tight.

Merlin starts crying again at some point. (To be honest he’s not sure he ever stopped. It’s been A Day.)

“Why are you crying?” Arthur murmurs into his ear. “Are you ever happy?”

The taunt would be more effective if Arthur wasn’t swaying then softly, one arm around Merlin’s waist and the other rubbing soothing circles over his back.

“Shut up,” Merlin sniffles. His arms are looped around Arthur’s neck, and he tangles his fingers into the soft hair at the nape of it. “You are so - we are never doing this again.”

Arthur laughs quietly, the warmth of it washing over Merlin’s skin. “Which part?”

“All of it,” Merlin mutters vehemently, and he can feel the curve of Arthur’s smile. “We can just write down our feelings. Learn to communicate.”

“Okay,” Arthur agrees easily. For all his smooth responses, he’s trembling under Merlin’s hands. Merlin curls himself closer to Arthur’s chest. “You’re never getting another day off.”

“Good,” Merlin mumbles, and closes his eyes. “I didn’t want one anyway.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> SO THERE WE GO.
> 
> high key my kink is arthur being smarter than he is ever given credit for.
> 
> Almost almost had Arthur using endearments when comforting Merlin, including a new one I plan for him to use, but like. These boys ain’t there yet
> 
> For anyone worried this chapter was a bit fast, I promise these boys have a lot more to get through. there will be a lot more talking and communication and stumbling through this mess. they just needed to shout at each other and cry a bit and break the ice first.
> 
> would love love to hear people's thoughts this chapter - idk about arthur's characterisation, hoping to flesh it out a bit more in the next chapters
> 
> Comments are the BEST 🙏🏻🙏🏻


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> when I posted the last chapter, I woke up the next morning to fourteen messages in my inbox, I WAS SO HAPPY. thank you thank you thank you
> 
> trigger warning: FINALLY SOME HEALTHY COMMUNICATION

Merlin thought he’d feel happier after that. 

When he’d stumbled back to his chambers last night, the ghost of Arthur’s embrace still clinging to him, he _ had _ been happy. Loose limbed and light headed and _ happy. _

But when Merlin wakes the next morning, that familiar weight has resettled on his chest. The enormousness of what’s happened presses against his rib cage, threatens to crush him. Lately, his moods have been as fickle as the summer rain, and apparently today is no exception.

Gaius takes one look at his sombre face and immediately starts fussing. “What is it? Did you sneak out in the middle of the night and shout at Arthur for a second time?”

Merlin flops down into a chair. “I didn’t shout at him. I just raised my voice a bit.”

“Hm. I’m sure,” Gaius says, like he doesn’t believe Merlin for a second. “Merlin, you were beaming when you came back last night. What has happened between then and now to change your mood this morning?”

Merlin rips off a piece of bread, pulling apart the crusts. He’s not that hungry. 

When he doesn’t answer, Gaius continues. “I thought your meeting with Arthur had gone well.”

“It did.” Merlin stares at the plate in front of him. “It was fine. Well, there was a bit of shouting and confusion and crying. But it was fine after that.”

Gaius takes a seat opposite him. “What’s troubling you, Merlin?”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s just - it’s not only one lie, is it?”

Gaius frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Arthur knows I have magic, which means he’ll find out everything else.” Merlin takes a shaky breath. “He already worked out he didn’t defeat the dragon by himself. I was the one to set the dragon free. My father was a dragon lord. I’m now a dragon lord. The dragon isn’t actually dead. It’s like once one string is unravelled, so will all the others.”

Merlin shakes his head. “So much has happened between us, I don’t know where to start. I don’t know how to start.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius sighs. “You have to give it time. You’ve suffered a great ordeal, having to hide who you are. I know there were moments you feared Arthur would never know the truth.”

“Never when Uther was alive,” Merlin mumbles. “I wouldn’t ever say this to Arthur’s face, but Camelot is a far better place without his father.”

“I think Arthur already knows that,” Gaius says gently, and they lapse into silence. 

“I care about him,” Merlin admits quietly. “More then I care about anyone. I’ve wanted him to know who I am, who I really am, for so long. And now it’s actually here I’m - “

“Scared?” Gaius suggests, and Merlin nods shakily. “That’s perfectly understandable, Merlin. There is still much more for you and Arthur to talk about. You’re both seeing each other properly for the first time. It’ll take time to trust each other, to build up your relationship.”

“Do you think we can?” Merlin asks, and his voice catches in his throat.

“Merlin,” Gaius says seriously. “I don’t think there’s anything Arthur wouldn’t do for you.”

Merlin thinks about that for a bit. Thinks about the time when Arthur risked his life to get the morteus flower. Or when Arthur warned him about Catrina, helped him escape her clutches, even though he had no idea whether Merlin was actually telling the truth or not. Or that time when Arthur rode all the way to Ealdor, to save Merlin’s village and his only remaining family.

Arthur had only known him a handful of months by then. It feels like a lifetime ago.

“You have time, Merlin,” Gaius reminds him, and for the first time, Merlin believes it. 

He feels a little soothed by Gaius’ words, but the buzzing nervousness stays with him when he heads to Arthur’s chambers. It’s like a flock of birds have taken flight in his stomach, and he’s almost bouncing on his toes. 

He’s going to be normal, Merlin decides. He’s just going to go in there and act like it’s a regular day. They’ve put the worst behind them, he can go about his usual chores and duties. Don’t let Arthur know you’re literally shaking in your boots.

Predictably, nothing goes to plan. 

Merlin pushes open the door, trips over a raised floorboard, and falls into the room. He only manages to stay upright by clinging to the door handle, but his added weight means it slams against the wall with a crash. 

Arthur’s head jerks up at the noise.

Merlin coughs. “Er, hello.”

“Good morning,” Arthur replies slowly. “Merlin, did you just break my door?”

“No,” Merlin says, mostly confident.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Merlin, did you just break a bone?”

“No,” Merlin lies. His elbow is on _ fire _. “Not that I know of. Probably not.”

Arthur sighs and turns away. “Come in before you break something else.”

Merlin shuts the door gingerly, sighing in relief when it closes with a click. Probably not that broken then. 

Arthur is dressed already. He’s in soft leather hunting boots, loose white shirt and a dark blue cape. Arthur is etched in the morning light that spills through the windows. The birds in Merlin’s stomach let flight all over again. 

Merlin hobbles over to the fire place, linking his fingers together anxiously. It’s like he’s a servant meeting the King for the first time. Well, A regular servant. Merlin wasn’t exactly the picture of deferential respect and awe when he met Arthur the first go around. 

Arthur rifles through his cupboard, pulling out a spare cloak. He holds it out to Merlin. “Can you get the horses ready?”

Merlin takes the cape, but doesn’t pull it on. “Are we going somewhere?”

Arthur is looking at him cautiously, shoulders back and jaw set. Arthur’s jaw line is lethal. It’s a sudden thought that makes something jolt in Merlin’s stomach, and he hastily shoves it down. (So not the time.)

“I thought we could get away from the castle for a while,” Arthur explains.

“We just spent a week away from the castle,” Merlin says stupidly. Then. “Oh. You meant away from the castle but not running for our lives.”

Arthur looks as though he’s physically restraining himself from rolling his eyes. “That is the idea.”

“A good idea,” Merlin agrees, because apparently he’s not done with the idiotic comments yet. 

The only solace is that Arthur looks as nervous as Merlin feels. He’s holding himself stiffly, but he’s meeting Merlin’s stare, gaze clear and blue and resolute. Arthur never has been a coward. 

“Did you want to ride Apollo?” Merlin asks, and congratulates himself for managing a sentence that both made sense and was relevant to the current topic. 

“No, let him rest.” Arthur waves his hand. “He deserves one.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, and then doesn’t move from the spot. 

Arthur’s brow furrows, and he takes a step closer to him. He gestures at the cloak still in Merlin’s hands. “You’ll need to put that on. It’s cold out.” 

“Right.” Merlin fumbles with the clasp and Arthur huffs. He steps forward, taking hold of Merlin’s wrist. His fingers are calloused and warm; he must be able to feel Merlin’s pulse under his fingertips. 

Arthur settles the cloak around Merlin’s shoulders, tying the clasp deftly. “There.”

He glances at Merlin’s face, then flinches. Whatever he must read in Merlin’s expression, it has him dropping his hands like they’ve caught aflame. 

“I’m sorry,” Arthur apologises quickly, stepping back. “I shouldn’t have presumed - of course, if you don’t want to come I’d - “

“I do want to come!” Merlin interrupts loudly.

Arthur blinks. “I - oh.”

Merlin swallows. 

Arthur looks unsettled. “You don’t - you don’t overly look like you want to come.”

“No, I really do,” Merlin protests. “It’s just - I just - “

“I thought it’d be easier to talk away from the castle,” Arthur continues. “By ourselves.”

“It would be,” Merlin agrees earnestly. 

“Right.” Arthur looks uncertain now. “Merlin, I don’t want to pressure you - “

“I don’t know what to say,” Merlin blurts. He can feel himself turning red. “Now that you know I’m a sorcerer. I’ve wanted to tell you for ages, but now that it’s here, I don’t know what to say.” He winces. “So apparently I’m saying whatever comes into my head. Sorry.”

When he dares to look, Arthur’s eyes are soft. It settles something in his chest; Arthur knows he’s a sorcerer, yet can still look at him like that. So achingly fond that it makes his heart race. 

“It’s not like I have any idea what to say either. Or what to do.”

Merlin shakes his head. “You say that. But you’re one of those terrible people who claim they have no idea what they’re doing, but secretly have three plans and four backs up, and come up smelling of roses either way.”

Arthur snorts in amusement. “Is that so?”

“Yes. It’s very irritating.”

“Well, I’ll try to work on that,” Arthur says graciously, “Seriously Merlin. It’s not like there’s any protocol for finding out your manservant of three years is actually a - that he - well.”

He trails off, before clearing his throat. “I wasn’t sure - if you’ve changed your mind about leaving - “

“No,” Merlin says quickly. “Of course I haven’t. Why do you keep thinking I want to leave?”

“Because everyone - “ Arthur begins, then shuts his mouth with a click. He ducks his head, turning towards the bed. Merlin has a horrible feeling that Arthur was about to say _ because everyone else does . _

“I’ll get the horses ready,” Merlin says softly. 

“Thank you.” Merlin moves towards the door, Arthur calling over his shoulder. “And get Gaius to check over your elbow before we leave.”

Merlin frowns at his back. “There’s nothing wrong with my elbow.”

Arthur arches his eyebrows. “So your elbow isn’t currently in excruciating pain?”

“No,” Merlin lies. At Arthur’s stony expression, he cracks. “How did you know?”

“Don’t be an idiot, Merlin,” Arthur sighs, and Merlin mutters something unsavoury under his breath as he leaves. He knows Arthur heard it, though, because he can his muffled laughter when he shuts the door. 

Merlin is feeling slightly more hopeful, but no less nervous, as he walks to the stables. However, he doesn’t get far before stumbling upon the knights. Well, he stumbles upon Gwaine and Percival. Leon is hanging back and looking over the scene with the expression of a man who is very Tired. 

Gwaine’s eyes go wide. “Merlin! Fancy seeing you here!”

Merlin stares at him. “I work here.”

Gwaine beams at him. “Ah. So you do.”

Merlin tilts his head to one side. “What are you doing? Are you on your way to see Arthur?”

“I was on my way to see Arthur,” Leon says. “Gwaine is lurking about in the hall.”

“Am not,” Gwaine says indignantly. “I was on my way to see the princess too.”

“Right.” Merlin pulls a face at Gwaine, who, unsurprisingly, pulls a face right back. Leon looks as though he’s aged another five years. “Well, he’s in his chambers at the moment, but we’re going out for a ride.”

Gwaine perks up. “A ride?”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “Yes, Gwaine. A ride. On horses. Into the forest. Why are you being so weird today?”

  
“He’s always weird,” Percival says sadly, but with a wicked glint to his eye, and Gwaine elbows him in the ribs. 

“So you and Arthur have made up then?” Gwaine says bluntly. He leaning forward on his heels, peering at Merlin like he can read the truth on his face. “And now you’re taking a nice ride into the woods together? Alone?”

Oh. Maybe Gwaine is worried Arthur’s taking him somewhere secluded to murder him. 

“I’ll be careful,” Merlin reassures him. “We won’t be out long.”

Gwaine gives him a funny look, like Merlin’s misinterpreted what he meant. “I think you should take all the time you need. You two never get time to yourselves.”

Gwaine elbows Leon in the ribs. “Don’t you agree, Leon? Merlin and the princess can finally get some alone time.”

Leon ignores him. “Merlin, can you tell Arthur I’ll leave the reports he wanted on his desk?”

Merlin nods and Leon leaves. Percy does too, but Gwaine stays behind, leering at him, until Leon comes back and drags Gwaine away by his bicep.

Apollo is chomping at some hay when Merlin passes his stall. He huffs at Merlin and Merlin pats his flank, leaving him to it. Merlin walks to the next stable, surprised to see Thistle, (the horse, not the phooka), nestled in the hay.

Merlin stares at her in shock. He’d thought he’d lost her after the bandit attack, that she’d either been taken by the bandits, or fled into the forest and gotten lost. But here she is, a little tatty and thin, but sleeping quite peacefully. 

One of the stable boys is passing by, and Merlin grabs his attention. “How is she here?”

The boy, David Merlin thinks his name is, shrugs. “She trotted back to Camelot a few days before the King returned. It was the strangest thing, just trotted into the courtyard, no rider but saddle and bridle still in tact.”

David scratches his head. “I guess she remembered the way home. Never thought horses were that clever, if I’m honest.”

“Or she had a little help,” Merlin breathes. David gives him an odd look and Merlin flushes. “Er, I’m just going to prepare the King’s horse. He’s going riding. In the forest.”

David just nods awkwardly and walks away, no doubt chalking it up to the King’s servant being a little odd again. Merlin sighs, watching as another slice of his reputation goes down the drain. He really doesn't mean to be so awkward all the time.

Merlin prepares two horses, leading them out to the courtyard. Despite the winter chill, weak sunshine is breaking through. Merlin can just feel the warmth of it ghosting over his skin. 

Arthur takes a horse from him and swings up into the saddles. Merlin waits until they’ve left the main gates, before hissing, “Thistle is in the stables.”

Arthur jerks his horse to a stop. “What? What is he doing there?”

Merlin frowns. “Sleeping mostly.”

  
Arthur’s face has gone white. His horse tosses its head, and Arthur loosens his grip on the reins. “As a horse?”

Merlin stares. “Yes, as a horse.”

“Not as a dog?” Arthur presses. “Or as a bird? Gods, how did he get here - “

“Oh. Oh, Arthur, no. Not Thistle the phooka, Thistle the _ horse_,” Merlin clarifies. 

Arthur’s face does several things in a span of a second, before he snaps, “And you didn’t think to start with that!”

“I forgot they had the same name!” Merlin protests. “I was really happy she was back!”

He’s pretty certain Arthur is talking himself down from a full blown panic attack. Merlin feels immeasurably guilty about that, and he ducks his head. “Sorry.”

Arthur lets out a breath. He cuts Merlin a look from beneath his lashes. “Merlin, you don’t think - that definitely is Thistle, isn’t it.”

“Thistle the horse?”

“Yes, Thistle the horse,” Arthur grits out.

“Oh. Yeah. She’s just a horse. It isn’t, er, the other Thistle pretending to be a horse.”

“Right.” Arthur presses a hand to his temple. “Bit odd, isn’t it? That they have the same name.”

It’s a thought that’s crossed Merlin’s mind before, and honestly, he’s come to two possible conclusions. It’s either a coincidence, or it’s the phooka fucking with them.

Honestly, it’s probably the latter. Merlin isn’t sure this is the right time to break that to Arthur. 

After a long moment, Arthur urges his horse forward again. “How did she even get back here? I thought we’d lost her in all the commotion. All the horses were gone when I came back round, apart from Apollo.”

“So did I,” Merlin says. “The stable boy said she just arrived back at Camelot a few days before we did. Trotted right through the gates. He thought she must have remembered the path back.

“Hm,” says Arthur, which speaks volumes without actually saying anything. 

Merlin coughs. “I don’t believe that.”

“No?” Arthur says flatly.

Merlin squirms a little. “Not that I had anything to do with it! I just wouldn’t be surprised if the phooka gave her a nudge in the right direction.”

“But the phooka didn’t even meet her! As far as we know.”

“Well, no. But.” Merlin spreads his hands helplessly. “Magic.”

Merlin suspects the phooka helped them out because Arthur was so polite to him, listened to his words and heeded his advice. Maybe he thought Arthur deserved a little treat, because he didn’t try to murder all the magical creatures. Be kind to one Thistle, get one back for free, Merlin thinks a little hysterically. Magic is all about balance, after all. Trust the phooka to have a unique take on that. 

They head further into the forest. Merlin doesn’t mind riding when it’s just for fun. He actually quite likes it. The mare he’s riding is a sweet little chestnut, and he threads an absent minded hand through her mane.

He can tell Arthur is relaxing, too, the tension sliding off him the further they got from Camelot. Merlin can’t help stealing glances of him, Arthur’s hair burnished gold in the sunlight, the lines around his mouth easing. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says after they’ve been riding in comfortable silence for half an hour.

“Merlin,” Arthur returns evenly. He’s riding one handed, other hand resting on his thigh, confident and at ease. 

Merlin clears his throat. “So. Thanks for not burning me at the stake.”

Arthur almost falls out of the saddle. “Merlin!”

“Sorry!” Merlin babbles. “I told you I didn’t know what to say, I just meant - “

“Gods,” Arthur mutters, dragging a hand over his face. “Merlin, were you born with a shred of tact in your body?”

“I didn’t mean to - “

“I’d never hurt you,” Arthur interrupts fiercely. He pulls his horse to a half, grabbing the reins of Merlin’s ride to do the same. His eyes burn a bright blue. “I know what my father has done, I know what I stood by and watched happen. I have no idea what your life has been like, what you’ve suffered. And for what it's worth, I’m sorry. But I’m not going to let anything happen to you.”

Merlin’s throat feels tight. “I. Oh. Thank you.”

Arthur still looks wretched, and the words come tumbling out of Merlin’s mouth. “I - I was born with magic.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide. “You were?”

Merlin wets his dry lips. “Yes. I’ve had magic since I was a baby.”

Arthur drops the reigns for Merlin’s horse, but makes no effort to move away. “No one taught you?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. Most people are taught magic, few people are born with it. But I was.” 

Arthur looks hesitant. “So your mother was the first person to find out?”

It’s not what Merlin expected him to ask. “Um, yes. I was only a baby, so I didn’t have much control of it. But there were odd little things. My crib would rock by itself, or my favourite toys would appear in my crib without anyone putting them there. Not that I had a lot of toys, but apparently I was particularly fond of my mother’s cooking bowl.”

Merlin smiles, lost in the memory. “My mother didn’t know it was magic, at first. She was frightened out of her mind, thought I might be cursed.”

“Cursed?”

“Wouldn’t you?” Merlin asks. “If mysterious things kept happening around your newborn child? It was only when my eyes turned gold that she realised what it meant.”

“Your mother must have been frightened for you.” Arthur’s tone is wistful. His gaze is fixed on something Merlin can’t see. “Frightened you’d be found out. Or hurt.”

Merlin sighs. “We may have lived in Essetir, but the laws were just as cruel. And we were close enough to Camelot’s border, that the danger was always there.” He pauses. “My mother told me that Uther would even send search parties over the borders, sometimes. If a sorcerer had tried to run and escape. I had to keep it a secret, even in Ealdor. Mum went mad when Will found out.”

“She wanted to protect you.”

“Yeah.” Merlin swallows. “Yes, she did.”

The world is quiet around them, caught in the hands of old memories and even older ghosts. The sunlight spills through the glade, bathing them in golds and greens. The moment feels delicate, vulnerable, old secrets and new tangled together like gossamer threads.

“What does it feel like?” Arthur asks quietly.

“My magic?”

Arthur nods gingerly. “You said you were born with it. That it’s a part of you.”

Merlin picks his words carefully, tries to verbalise the way his magic glows in his veins. “I - I don’t know. It’s just always been there.” He thinks. “It’s like - the warmth of a fire in winter. Bright and hot and - powerful. It’s not - I don’t choose to use it. Well, I do, but it’s instinctual. That’s what I mean.” He looks down at his hands. “I can’t remember feeling anything else.”

Arthur’s horse shifts restlessly. Wordlessly, Arthur slides off it, tying the reins to a nearby tree. Merlin watches him, blinking when Arthur offers out a hand. Merlin takes it, palms sliding against each other, and dismounts himself. 

Arthur lets go and Merlin secures his own mare to a branch. Wordlessly, they both lower themselves to the ground. Merlin sits cross legged, Arthur with his knees drawn to his chest. 

Arthur crosses his arms, rests them on his knees and drops his chin. He looks young, boyish, big eyes and hair tousled by the ride here. “Do you think Morgana was born with magic?”

Merlin picks at a handful of grass. “I don’t know if she was born with it. I think her powers were buried inside her, and began to grow. Gaius believed she was a seer.”

“Because her dreams kept coming true?”

At Merlin’s nod, Arthur hums.“I didn’t believe her at first, but she was always right. That time with the questing beast, she was so frightened. She ran out of the castle barefoot, do you remember?”

Merlin shreds a handful of weeds. “She was right to be suspicious of Sophia, too.”

“And Sophia was the one who tried to drown me?”

“Yes, Sophia was the one who tried to drown you,” Merlin confirms. “And so did her father. They were sidhe.”

“What are those?”

Merlin scrunches his nose. “Um, small, ugly faeries, who can take on the shape of humans. Elena was possessed by one!”

“Elena!” Arthur gasps. “She had magic too?”

Merlin laughs. It feels a relief to do so, to be able to do so whilst talking about this topic. Something shifts in his chest, and he leans forward, grinning. “No! When she was born, the sidhe cast a spell on her, implanting a faerie in her body.”

Arthur snorts. “You’re making this up!”

“I’m not!” Merlin laughs. “I swear! That’s why she was so clumsy to start with, but could miraculously walk in a straight line by the end of her trip. Even you said there was something different about her.”

“I didn’t mean she was no longer possessed by an evil faerie!” Arthur shakes his head. “I know you must think me oblivious, but really. How was I supposed to guess that one?”

“You weren’t supposed to guess any of it,” Merlin shrugs. “Me and Gaius always did a good job of covering it all up.”

“I suppose you did.” Arthur sits back, assessing him. His gaze is intense, thorough, and Merlin shivers a little as Arthur’s stare washes over him. It’s like Arthur can see right through him, can see all the secrets Merlin’s kept tucked into his breast bone. “I must owe you my life fifty times over.”

Merlin feels his face turn hot. “You don’t owe me anything. It’s not why I do it.”

He tears a lump of grass out of the ground, suddenly desperate for something to do with his hands. 

“Merlin.” Merlin doesn’t look up, teeth sinking into his bottom lip. “Why do you do it? Why would you choose to be a servant, all this time?”

Merlin feels curiously hot, an emotion he can’t name rising in his throat. “Because I care too much about you to ever let you be hurt. And because I believe in you, and in the kingdom you will build. And because you’d do the same for me.”

Merlin frowns at the decimated shrubbery in front of him. “You _ have _done the same for me. If you thought you owed me your life, you must have repaid the debt ten times over.”

Arthur reaches out and takes his hand. Merlin looks up, startled as warm fingers entwine with his. “Arthur.”

Arthur is narrowing his eyes at the mess Merlin has made. “Merlin, you carry on and there’ll be no forest left.”

Arthur is still holding his hand. It’s making it very difficult for Merlin to focus on anything else. 

“Maybe I hate the forest,” Merlin mumbles, which makes no sense and is a direct consequence of Arthur Pendragon _ holding his hand _and turning his thoughts to mush.

Arthur clears his throat. “I’m still - the thought of magic still frightens me.”

Merlin’s heart squeezes painfully in his chest. “Oh.”

A strong hand grasps his jaw, tilting his head up. Arthur’s grip is hot, proprietary, forcing Merlin to meet Arthur’s eyes. Something hot uncurls in his chest and settles in his stomach, has his toes curling at Arthur’s hands on him.

“I’m not frightened of _you_,” Arthur says hastily. “Merlin, how could I be? How many times have you held my fate in your hands?”

“More times than you know,” Merlin manages, and Arthur’s eyes are alight with a heady mix of awe and wonder.

“I just meant that I fear that it will take me time to unlearn what my father drilled into me,” Arthur continues shakily. “I have always been taught magic is evil, but that is no excuse for forgetting my own principles. Principles that were mine, and mine alone. I’ve always wanted Camelot to be a fair and just kingdom, for everyone. And I only hope - if you allow me, I’d like to show you I mean that.”

Merlin can feel his bottom lip trembling. “I would like that.”

Arthur exhales. “And I might need some guidance. It appears there’s a lot I don’t know.”

“No surprise there,” Merlin mumbles, half sarcastic, half shaky, and Arthur pulls him into a one armed hug. 

Merlin sinks into it, hides his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, and doesn’t even complain when Arthur ruffles his hair. He feels safe, in this moment, the truth laid out between them, no longer a battlefield, but a bridge to be crossed.

Arthur pulls back, smiling widely. “Come on. I had the sense of mind to pack some food from the kitchens. I know you didn’t have breakfast.”

Merlin crosses his arms as Arthur climbs to his feet, rifling through the saddle bags. “How could you possibly know that? I might have had an entire feast for breakfast.”

“But I bet you didn’t,” Arthur counters. “And even if you did, you could do with another one. You’re far too skinny, Merlin.”

“I’m not,” Merlin scowls. “You’re just fat.”

“You’re a horrible little brat,” Arthur says cheerfully, and shoves a plate of bread and cheese at him. 

Merlin is actually starving, and he tucks into his meal. Arthur has brought grapes as well, Merlin’s favourite, and he picks a handful for himself. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says tentatively. “Were you angry at me when you found out?”

Arthur pops a grape into his mouth, chewing slowly. “I - yes. A little.”

Merlin looks down at his plate. “Oh.”

“But more angry at myself,” Arthur continues quietly, and Merlin’s gaze snaps up. “It wouldn’t be fair to be angry at you, Merlin. Magic is outlawed in Camelot, on pain of death. Your life was on the line. How could I expect you to tell me?”

Merlin frowns. “But I still lied to you. For years.”

“And my father would have killed you if he’d found out,” Arthur counters grimly. “And if you’d told me when he was alive, and he’d ever suspected I knew.” Arthur shudders. “Well. He would have killed you then and there. Or tortured it out of me, if he thought I was covering for you.”

Merlin gasps. “He wouldn’t - “

“I don’t know what he would have done.” Arthur interjects coolly. “But he would have killed you. That’s all that matters.”

“I’ve only ever used it for good,” Merlin blurts. “I’ve only ever used it to protect you, to protect Camelot.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says softly. “I know.”

“It’s not evil,” Merlin continues, because he can’t stop now. “Magic isn’t evil. Or good. It just is. It’s a tool, like anything. Like a sword. Like a crown.”

He shoves a piece of cheese in his mouth before he can say anything else. Arthur looks taken aback at his outburst, lips parted.

“I don’t know anything about it.” Arthur gestures with one hand. “About magic, I mean. Only my father’s rhetoric. His hatred made him ignorant. I don’t know how magic - works. Whether people are born with it, or they learn it, or whether every magical creature in the forest wants to take my head off.”

“Just the mean ones,” Merlin offers. “Some of them are quite sweet, really.”

Arthur sighs. “Are you talking about the unicorn?”

“The unicorn was sweet.” Merlin narrows his eyes. “I know you thought it, too, or you wouldn’t have brought it back to life.”

“I didn’t exactly have a choice,” Arthur argues, but he isn't fooling anyone. “I will admit the unicorn was tolerable.”

“Tolerable,” Merlin snorts. “Don’t be pompous, Arthur.”

“Don’t be a brat, Merlin.”

Merlin’s heart is so light he could drift away. It’s such a momentous relief, such a huge weight off his shoulders, that he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself. He’s never felt so _ free. _

They spend the rest of the afternoon in the glade, talking and joking and teasing each other. It’s not like it was before, not the same rhythm, the same familiarity, but Merlin thinks this is something new, something better. It’s tentative and vulnerable but it’s something true, and that makes all the difference.

They end up lying on their backs, staring up at the sky. Arthur packed blankets, which they’re settled on, and Merlin has his cape tucked snugly around him.

Arthur is currently acting like an ass. “I know you’re making this one up.”

“I’m not,” Merlin insists. “Gaius was actually possessed by a goblin!”

Arthur shakes his head. “I think you said that to try and cause my father to have a breakdown.”

Merlin shoves him in the arm. “Shut up, I know the goblin confessed to you. You’re just trying to wind me up.”

“And succeeding,” Arthur smirks, and laughs when Merlin shoves him again. 

Merlin pulls his cape tighter around him. “You’re such an idiot.”

“I’m the idiot?” Arthur repeats incredulously. “You literally confessed to my father that you were a sorcerer! In front of the entire court!”

“To save Gwen,” Merlin argues. “And you sorted that one out, so there’s no need to bring it up.”

“No need to bring it up,” Arthur mimics, in a tone that is nothing like Merlin’s and is unbecoming of a King. Merlin tells him as much, and Arthur retaliates by pushing Merlin off the blankets.

When Merlin has resettled himself, accompanied by a dirty look in Arthur’s direction, Arthur is looking at him curiously.

“What?” Merlin asks, suddenly self conscious. “Do I have leaves in my hair?”

“How many sorcerers do you think there are in Camelot?”

Merlin looks up at the sky. It’s cloudless, a pale grey. They’ll have to leave soon, the temperature is already dropping. “I don’t know. I’m sure there _are_ sorcerers in Camelot. But they no longer use magic. Or don’t use it out in the open.”

“Men and women.” Arthur pauses. “Children, too. Like the druid boy.”

Merlin shrugs. “Probably. But not all sorcerers are druids. There is a difference.”

“Right,” Arthur says thoughtfully. “Camelot’s borders are currently closed to the druids. My father banned them from trading within the city. Do all druids have magic?”

Merlin blinks. “I think so. I’ve never really thought about it. I know the druids take in refugees sometimes. Even those without magic, lone travellers or children who have run away.”

“Hm.” Arthur tilts his head to look at him. “How many phookas did you think there are in Camelot?”

“Hopefully none,” Merlin mutters, and Arthur laughs. “One was enough.”

“You knew all about them,” Arthur ponders. “Have you been reading all those restricted books in the library?”

“Maybe.”

“Did you read them when my father was alive?”

“Maybe.”

Arthur groans. “Please tell me you at least kept any books you did read hidden safely?” At Merlin’s sheepish look, Arthur groans louder. “That’s why you were always so cagey when the castle was being searched, wasn’t it!”

“They never found it!” 

“I don’t know how you’ve managed to stay alive for so long,” Arthur tells him seriously. After a moment’s contemplation, he adds, “But I’m glad you did.”

Sometimes, Arthur is so bluntly sweet, so honest and affectionate, that it makes Merlin’s stomach flip. It’s always when Merlin’s least expecting it, and it’s always direct and unabashed, and it’s always aimed at Merlin. 

“Me too,” Merlin says when he can speak again. “Me too.”

Arthur nudges his knee. “What else do your books say, then? Any other magical creatures I can expect? Are my dogs about to start composing sonnets?”

“I wouldn’t rule it out.” Arthur moans dramatically. “But you’re probably safe for now. I’d never seen a phooka before that. Or a selkie.”

Arthur frowns. “Oh, yeah. I’d forgotten about the selkies. What do you think that seaweed meant? Will the kingdom now be cursed because we threw it back?”

“Probably, yeah,” Merlin says casually, and ducks the cuff Arthur’s aims at him. “I’m just telling the truth! Doomed for eternity, now.”

“You’re doomed for eternity,” Arthur corrects. “You’re the one who threw it overboard.”

“Fair enough.” Merlin fingers the edge of his cloak, the material soft beneath his hands. “They were pretty interesting, though.”

When he turns to Arthur, Arthur is already watching him, something unreadable in his expression.

Merlin frowns at him. “What? Have you actually put a leaf in my hair?”

“You have that look in your eyes again,” Arthur observes, voice low, a little rough around the edges.

Without realising, the space between them has dissipated. Arthur is propped up on his elbow, gazing at Merlin. They’re so close that Merlin can see the flecks of grey in Arthur’s eyes, the little white scar about his eyebrow. 

“What look?” Merlin murmurs. 

Arthur hums and drops back down onto the blanket. He folds his hands over his stomach, staring up at the sky. Merlin can’t help the rush of disappointment he feels. 

“The same look you had when you saw the selkie for the first time,” Arthur explains. “Like you’re not alone anymore. Like you’ve - like you’ve found what you were looking for.”

A lump rises in Merlin’s throat, and he swallows hard. “Do you remember when I told you why I left Ealdor?”

Arthur makes a small noise of surprise. “It was a long time ago, but yes. You said you didn’t fit in anymore.”

“Right.” A lifetime of being different, of being the odd one out, of having no one who truly wanted him but his mother and Will, temporarily silences him. He pushes aside the memories, those familiar feelings of never being wanted. “I didn’t fit in there because of my magic. People didn’t know, but they could tell I was different. Or maybe they did know, but didn’t want to admit it, and gave me an even wider berth.”

Merlin shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. I had hoped when I met other magic users, it’d be different. And it was better! The few sorcerers I did meet, it was amazing. But still, I’m not like them either. Being born with magic it’s - really rare. And having magic like mine, that’s rarer still.”

“Magic like yours?” Arthur questions gently. 

Merlin closes his eyes. “Most people aren’t born with magic. The magic I have - it’s powerful. Instinctive. It’s all I’ve ever known, but it’s not like that for other people. They all expect things of me that I don’t - “

Merlin trails off, voice catching. He can’t speak for a moment, the weight of his destiny pressing down on his throat.

Arthur reaches out and takes his hand. Merlin grips it tight, but Arthur doesn’t let go, not once. 

“I’m just still different, is all,” Merlin continues hoarsely. “But the selkie, and the phooka, they _are_ magic. Made of magic. Like me. Free and wild and - untamed.”

Arthur’s thumb is running soothingly over the back of his hand. It encourages Merlin to keep talking, let loose all the thoughts he’s been keeping inside. He didn’t realise until now how long he’d been waiting to share them with someone.

“And in Camelot, it’s - it’s lonely, you know?” Merlin bites his cheek, hoping he doesn’t sound silly. “It’s not like there are other sorcerers to talk to. They’re all hiding, or running for their lives, or. Um. Dead. So I used to read the books in the library, or the ones Gaius had hidden away. Books about phookas and selkies and so many other things.”

Arthur squeezes his hand. “Perhaps some of them still live within Camelot.”

“Perhaps.” Merlin hesitates. “I think Uther hunted a lot of them.”

“Like the dragons.”

“Like the dragons,” Merlin echoes. 

A cool hand touches his jaw, cupping his cheek and turning him to face Arthur.

“Do you still feel lonely?” Arthur whispers.

Merlin leans into his touch. “Less so, now that you’re here.”

Arthur runs his knuckles over Merlin’s cheekbone, before dropping his hand. “Then we’ve achieved something today.” 

“You know what it’s like, don’t you?” Merlin says, before he can lose his courage. “To be lonely.”

Arthur pauses, eyes troubled. “It’s nothing in comparison to how you have suffered.”

Merlin just looks at him. Arthur opens his mouth. Closes it. Opens it once more when Merlin wraps cautious fingers around his wrist.

“My father had very high standards for me.” Arthur’s voice is even, detached. “Even as a young boy, it was made very clear what my father’s expectations were. And I had no siblings, not until Morgana came to stay with us when she was ten.”

Arthur swallows. “And I never got to meet my mother.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say to that, can’t find the words to stop the haunted look in Arthur’s eyes. Instead, he leans forward and gently rests his forehead against Arthur’s. Arthur stills for a heartbeat, before closing his eyes.

Merlin couldn’t say how long they stay there. Curled towards each other but barely touching, the forest quiet but for bird song and the soft nickering of the horses. Eventually, their breath starts to freeze in front of them, curling in the air like smoke.

“Come on,” Arthur murmurs eventually. “It’s turning cold. Let’s go home.”

He climbs to his feet, holding out a hand. Merlin grasps it and lets Arthur pull him upright. 

The ride back to the castle is easy, comfortable. They are mostly quiet, a few murmured conversations here and there. At one point, Merlin’s jackets get caught on a tree branch, and Arthur laughs for ages before he actually bothers to help.

They both straighten up once they pass through the main gates. Merlin can see the subtle change in Arthur, the way he settles back into the role of King. Not that Arthur is ever truly anything but, even as Prince he was always the rightful ruler of Camelot, it’s just not all Arthur is. And it’s easier for Arthur to remember that when he isn’t under the watchful eye of the court and his castle. 

Arthur dismounts easily, running a grateful hand over his horse's flank. Merlin slides off his own, stumbling a little as he gets his bearings on the cobblestones.

Arthur’s mouth quirks, and Merlin scowls at him. “Don’t laugh.”

Arthur holds up his hands. “I didn’t say anything!”

“Yet,” Merlin says darkly, and this time Arthur does laugh. Merlin’s horse nudges his arm, and he leans against her neck, breathing in the familiar scent. 

“Arthur - “

“Merlin - “

They both laugh awkwardly, before Arthur tries again. “Merlin, I - “

“Sire!” It’s Leon, hurrying down the steps with his red cloak billowing behind him. Arthur’s horse, despite seeing his rider wear the very same cloak, decides in that moment he doesn’t agree with the fashion choices of Camelot’s knights, and tosses his head unhappily.

He nearly stamps on Merlin’s toes as well, and Merlin grabs for the reins. “Arthur, I better - “

Arthur looks pained, Leon nearly upon them. He’s not even holding a boring parchment to be signed, so it probably is something genuinely important. “Merlin, I have to - “

“Go,” they say at the same time, and they both wince. 

“Arthur,” Merlin says quickly. “Thank you for today.”

And then, because emotional vulnerability is exhausting, and before he can make an even bigger fool of himself, Merlin takes the out. 

The out in this case being a tall, curly haired knight with an impressive work effort and stupidly long legs.

Leon clears the last step, Merlin grabs both horses and flees the scene. 

And if he spends an extra half an hour in stables, reliving the fact Arthur Pendragon held his hand today, well. No one but the horses are around to witness it. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> me: they haven't had a proper conversation for 40k, so they can have 7k of healthy communication as a little treat 
> 
> writing this fic is hard, because i was thinking about how it isn't just merlin's magic like, it's him being a dragon lord, it's him poisoning morgana, it's him setting the dragon free, it's balinor!!! and gaius knowing and covering for him, it's just a MESS. tbh for the first time im pretty happy about the high chapter counter, because boy have we got a lot to rewrite 
> 
> i hope arthur's reaction was realistic. or as realistic as a fictional character i didn't create would be. he has lots of questions and he also loves merlin, and he's also? pretty just and fair, so i don't think he'd ever blame merlin for not telling him. i think he'd know that merlin's choices were pretty limited when his life was on the line. 
> 
> I think Merlin was super lonely. S4 and S5 are so well written and like, you can just see it. It’s so sad. Same for Arthur, S4 is a particular kicker, which is roughly where this fic is set. 
> 
> aaaagghgh there's so much to write of this fic and i am so excited for it. No one has guessed anything yet that I thought they would, though that might change next chapter. I’m not sure if it’s obnoxious to be excited about your own work, but I just really am 
> 
> COMMENTS ARE THE BEST


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alexander hamilton voice: *intimacy*

Gwaine hunts Merlin down the next morning. Well, he lurks around Gaius’ chambers until it’s an acceptable hour, then bursts through the door at day break and demands Merlin’s attention.

“I’m borrowing Merlin,” Gwaine announces.

Merlin, half asleep but used to Gwaine’s dramatics by now, yawns in response. “You can’t borrow people, Gwaine.”

“You can if you return them in one piece,” Gwaine grins.

“Are you going to return me in one piece?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” Gwaine leers, and then ruins it by bumping into the table. “Shit.”

Merlin snorts, grabbing his jacket. “I better put him out of his misery. See you later, Gaius.”

Gaius shoos them out of his chambers like a pair of stray cats, shaking his head at their antics. Merlin rubs at his eyes sleepily, letting Gwaine propel him along the corridors. They swing by the kitchens to grab some food, thick bread and hot slices of bacon, before heading for the tournament stands.

Merlin has seen Gwaine sitting in the empty stands on a few occasions, lost in thought . Gwaine does a good job of acting like an over confident idiot, but he’s also never settled in one place for long. And he only began to thaw toward anyone vaguely related to royalty due to continued exposure to Arthur. (Arthur is good at that. He subverts all your expectations by being the true type of noble, good and kind and just, and before you know it you’re smitten.)

Merlin knows Gwaine feels just as out of place as Merlin at times. He’s not like Leon, who was raised to be a knight, grew up in the castle and its court. Gwaine doesn’t trust a lot of the older nobles, the ones who have been around since Uther’s time. Agravaine clearly gets right on his nerves. Arthur has only been King for three months - Merlin isn’t the only one finding his feet.

If you want to have a good brood, the stands are the place to do it. They keep them up all year round, even when there are no tournaments. Merlin suspects it was Uther’s way of showing how rich he was, that he could throw a tournament whenever he wanted. Merlin also suspects, as he has long suspected, that rich people are insane.

The settle down onto one of the wooden benches, protected by the overhanging shelter. Merlin licks a bit of bacon grease off the side of his hand, before shooting Gwaine a sideways glance. “How did you convince the cook to give us these?”

Gwaine takes a big bite of his own sandwich. “Natural charm.”

“She hates me,” Merlin complains. “It was one accidental fire. Does no one get a second chance anymore?”

“A second chance at burning to death?”

Merlin shoves him in the shoulder. “They weren’t even third degree burns. The cook loves Arthur, though.”

“Heard there’s a bit of that going around,” Gwaine says casually, and Merlin glares at him. “So, how did your trip to the woods go? Didn’t rough you up, did he? Do I need to get my crossbow?”

For all his teasing, the worried lines around Gwaine’s eyes give him away. Merlin shakes his head. “Like you’d beat Arthur in a fight even if he did.”

“Like Arthur would ever lay a finger on you,” Gwaine retorts, though he can’t quite hide the relief in his tone. “Should have known he wouldn’t have touched a hair on your head.”

“Yes, you clearly weren’t worried at all,” Merlin says sarcastically, but smiles to show Gwaine he’s joking. “We just talked, mostly.”

Gwaine hums. After a moment, he asks, “Is he going to lift the ban on magic?”

Something twists in Merlin’s stomach. He has been very carefully not thinking about that. It’s one thing for Arthur to know he has magic, it’s a whole different thing for Arthur to change the law.

“I don’t know,” Merlin says quietly, because that's all he can answer. “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

Gwaine nods, expression serious. “I imagine you two have a lot to talk about.”

Merlin sighs. “There’s a lot he doesn’t know.”

“Like what?”

Merlin shrugs, not really wanting to get into it. He tries not to sound too bitter, but he’s not sure he manages it. “It’s never just one lie, is it?

Gwaine looks like he’s going to say something, but Merlin interrupts before he has the chance. “I still don’t understand how you’re so okay with all this.”

Gwaine snorts. “What part of ‘saved a man’s life’ are you struggling with?”

Merlin flushes, and Gwaine laughs, swinging an arm around his shoulders. “I won't deny I’m still coming to terms with it, still getting used to the idea of our Merlin as an all powerful warlock. But honestly, a lot more things make sense now.”

Merlin wriggles out from under Gwaine’s grip. “Please, you’d never have put it together if I hadn’t put all the blood back into your body.”

“What a lovely image,” Gwaine mutters, and ruffles Merlin’s hair obnoxiously in retaliation. “Hey, we should get out of here. They’ll be getting these stands ready soon.”

Merlin finishes licking the salt off his fingers. “What for?”

“The tournament.” At Merlin’s frown, Gwaine raises an eyebrow. “Everyone in the castle has been talking about it.”

“I haven’t spent much time in the castle of late,” Merlin says drily.

“Oh, right,” Gwaine says sheepishly. “Well, there’s going to be a big tournament held in a few weeks. To celebrate.”

“Celebrate what?”

Gwaine tilts his head. “You really don’t know?”

Merlin spreads his hands. “Obviously not.”

“Ah.” Gwaine clears his throat. “It’s Agravaine’s birthday.”

Merlin stares at him. “What?”

Gwaine winces. “Sorry.”

“Why are we throwing a tournament to celebrate that?” Merlin demands. “Who would want to celebrate that?”

Gwaine shrugs. “Beats me, you know what nobility are like. He is a member of the royal family.”

Merlin scowls at the ground, day thoroughly ruined. “Well, I’m not celebrating it. Waste of everyone’s time, if you ask me. It won’t be Agravaine whose run ragged weighing on the nobles hand and foot, it’ll be me and Gwen and everyone in the kitchens. Are they inviting nobles from the other kingdoms, too?”

“That’s what I’ve heard, to compete in the tournament against Camelot’s knights. It’ll be the first one Arthur’s competed in since he became King.”

“Bloody brilliant,” Merlin snaps, pushing himself to his feet. “More work for me.”

Gwaine stands too, nudging Merlin in the ribs. “Look, I know you hate Agravaine - “

Merlin pauses. “How do you know that?”

Gwaine sighs. “Merlin, you’re really not as subtle as you think. I’m not a fan of the creepy bastard either. All the knights can read it on your face during council meetings. It’s almost as obvious - “

“Time to get back to work,” Merlin says hastily, and shoves Gwaine out of the stands.

-

Arthur is overseeing a practise session with the knights when they arrive at the training fields. His eyes flicker over Merlin and Gwaine, jaw setting. He barks an order at Gwaine to get moving, and Gwaine does so, but not before shooting Arthur a jaunty salute.

Merlin sidles up to Arthur, trying not to sneak glances at his profile and failing miserably. Arthur could be carved from marble, straight nose, strong jawline, armour glinting silver in the early morning light.

“Do you think Leon is favouring his left side?” Arthur asks without preamble, as though he and Merlin are continuing a conversation they’d already started. It’s often like that between him and Arthur. Rambling sentences, disjointed conversations, an inexplicable understanding of what the other means with just one word. Silences that speak volumes.

Merlin hums thoughtfully. “A little. Should he even be fighting? After being held captive by Morgana for so long?”

Arthur shakes his head. “Of course not, but you try and stop him.”

He gestures to the playing fields, where Leon has just knocked Percival to the ground. Percival is laughing uproariously, (Merlin has suspicions about the sanity of knights, too), but even from here Merlin can see the beads of sweat at Leon’s temples.

Arthur adjusts his stance, crossing his arms. “He’ll try and work it all out during sword practice, no doubt doing himself an injury in the meantime. And then after beating himself into the ground, he’ll eventually collapse into a heap, and then we’ll talk about it properly.”

Merlin blinks, a little taken aback by Arthur’s openness. “You know him that well?”

“More like I know myself,” Arthur mutters, then rolls his eyes at Merlin’s look of surprise. “Oh, please, Merlin. I’m not so unconscious of my own defects to know I’m exactly the same. Far easier to beat a training dummy into a pulp, then talk about your feelings.”

Arthur frowns, gaze catching on something. “Less healthy in the long term, though. Especially with you’re the King. Gwaine, what the hell are you doing with that?”

Arthur shouting at Gwaine to put that javelin down right now, Gwaine, is a good enough distraction for Merlin to pull himself together. By the time the commotion has settled down and Gwaine has been put in a time out for trying to skewer someone, Merlin has managed to suppress his proud tears at how much Arthur has grown.

“Gwaine is such an idiot,” Arthur mutters, before stiffening and giving Merlin an odd look. “No offence.”

Merlin wrinkles his nose. “Why are you apologising? Gwaine is an idiot, poor Leon was about to be impaled.”

“Still.” Arthur’s tone is odd, hollow and a little resigned. Merlin twists to look at him, takes in the tight lines around Arthur’s mouth. He’s set his shoulders, hands linked behind his back like he’s preparing for the arrival of a rival kingdom. “It’s bad form to insult someone’s - partner.” Then, like he can’t quite help it, “Even if they are an idiot.”

“My partner?” Merlin repeats in confusion. “Partner in what?”

Arthur sighs. “Merlin, you don’t have to hide it from me. I just - want you to be happy.”

“I’m not hiding it from you,” Merlin protests. “We’ve been over this, remember, I have ma - “

Arthur clasps a hand over Merlin’s mouth, glaring at him furiously. “That’s not what I meant! Gods, Merlin, have you just forgotten we’re in public and surrounded by people? Did you want the entire castle to know about your illegal and criminally punishable secret?”

Merlin wraps his fingers around Arthur’s palm, pushing it down so he can speak. Then, because Arthur is looking at him in a way that makes his blood heat, and also because a small part of Merlin likes the illicit thrill of danger, Merlin murmurs, “Like you’d let anyone hurt me.”

“I wouldn’t,” Arthur agrees lowly, no hesitation and with an edge to his voice that has Merlin’s heart beating furiously. “That doesn’t mean I want to see anyone try.”

He drops his hand, scowling at Merlin like he’s a total idiot. Merlin ignores how hot his cheeks feel, grasping at the last conversation they were having. “What do you mean about a partner? Do you want to start making some sense, Arthur?”

“Please don’t make me spell it out.” Arthur sounds strangely desperate, taking a step back. “I don’t know why you didn’t tell me, if you were worried because Gwaine is a knight and I’m the King. I know in my father’s day knights had to get permission to court, but I’d never - “

Realisation slams into Merlin like a brick to the head. Merlin gasps, eyes widening. “Arthur, do you think me and Gwaine are courting?”

“You are courting - “

“No, we’re not!” Merlin yells at him.

Arthur blinks. “But you - “

“Have you got a head injury?” Merlin demands. “That’s it, I’m calling Gaius right now - “

“No!” Arthur says quickly. “Don’t do that!”

Merlin stares at Arthur in disbelief. “Don’t get me wrong, Gwaine is one of my closest friends, but that’s it. Why on earth would you think we’re courting?”

“He - he knew about your magic!” Arthur stammers.

“It was kind of hard to miss when I was rearranging his internal organs,” Merlin hisses. His face feels like it’s on fire. “I would never fancy Gwaine!”

If Merlin’s face is on fire, then Arthur’s face must be scorched by the same flames, because he’s turning a pretty shade of pink. “But you - are you sure you’re not courting?”

“Yes! I think I would know!”

Arthur looks down at his feet. “Oh.”

Merlin has no idea what to say to any of this, mind in a complete daze. A tiny part of him that he doesn’t want to analyse, is very, very distressed at Arthur thinking he was taken. Like, catastrophically distraught at the idea of Arthur thinking Merlin was not - available and willing to be courted.

After a long, horribly awkward moment that drags on for eternity, Arthur clears his throat. “Well. That’s - clarified then.”

“Definitely not courting Gwaine,” Merlin agrees too loudly. Arthur winces. “Definitely not.”

Arthur rubs a hand over his face. Merlin wishes for a griffin to come along and chomp him up, but these things never appear when you want them to. The universe has a predilection for watching Merlin suffer.

“You said,'' Arthur begins hesitantly, and Merlin resigns himself to actually having to make eye contact with Arthur for the rest of his days. “You said one of your closest friends.”

Merlin scuffs his shoe along the ground. “Yeah, he is. Absolute nightmare half the time, but always there when I need him.”

“You said one of your closest friends,” Arthur repeats. “Not - not the closest friend.”

“Well, no,” Merlin mumbles shyly. “That’s you, isn’t it?”

When Merlin dares look up, Arthur is smiling. Soft and pleased and deeply satisfied.

“Shut up,” Merlin says immediately. “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything,” Arthur answers smugly, but there’s that damn curl to his lips, eyes hot and contemplative as they pin Merlin in place.

“Shut up,” Merlin repeats firmly. “Just - shut your face.”

“You’re mine,” Arthur comments casually, like he doesn’t hold Merlin’s heart in his cupped palms. “You’re my closest friend.”

“Glad that’s clarified,” Merlin squeaks, then spends a minute bringing his heart rate down, to avoid doing something colossally stupid like seeing how Arthur’s mouth tastes.

-

“Have you heard they’re throwing a birthday party for Agravaine?” Merlin asks Gaius at lunchtime.

When Gaius won’t meet his eyes, Merlin drops his spoon with a gasp. “Gaius! You did! And you didn’t tell me!”

“Because I knew you’d react like this,” Gaius huffs. “It’s not unusual for the castle to celebrate a member of the royal - “

Merlin cuts him off. “If I hear how he’s a member of the royal family one more time, I’m going to drown myself in this soup.”

“Merlin, really. Must you be so dramatic?”

“Yes!” Merlin says petulantly. “Perhaps one of the visiting nobles will bump him off, there’s always a murder attempt at these events - “

“Merlin, you should not say such a thing,” Gaius admonishes. “That is Arthur’s uncle.”

“And that breaks my heart more than anything!” Merlin shakes his head. “But it doesn’t mean I trust him! And it certainly doesn’t mean he deserves a tournament and a feast!”

“Well, you don’t have any say over that,” Gaius says practically. Merlin hates Practical Gaius. “This tournament is happening whether you like it or not. It’s your job to stand by Arthur’s side throughout it. It’s not just Agravaine you should be wary of.”

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Like you said, there will be visiting nobles from each of the five kingdoms attending the celebrations. Though already we have had no response from the kingdom of Carleon.”

“The ones who keep raiding the villages on our borders?” Merlin checks, and Gaius nods. “Arthur and Leon were worried about that at the last council meeting.”

“It will be a grave insult if they don’t attend,” Gaius explains. “And if they do, I fear they will be spoiling for a fight.”

Merlin sighs. “Even more reason not to celebrate. Not that anyone in their right mind would celebrate - “

“Eat your broth, Merlin,” Gaius interrupts. “And keep your eyes open. Now that Arthur knows about your magic, it will be easier for you to warn him of any threats.”

“No more sneaking around,” Merlin says with relish. “Well, yes, more sneaking around, but sneaking around with Arthur’s permission, this time.”

Gaius peers at him over his glasses. “And have you and Arthur had a chance to talk properly?”

Merlin very deliberately doesn’t think of Arthur’s hand curled in his. There are some memories you don’t need to relive in front of your only father figure. “Yes, we have. I think he - understands a little more. Of what it’s been like.”

Gaius’ face softens. “I see. Well, that’s good.”

“It is.” Merlin’s throat feels suddenly tight. “It’s still new, still frightening sometimes. But now that I don’t have to hide it from him, it’s like a weight has been lifted off my shoulders.”

“That’s good,” Gaius repeats gently, and they smile at each other across the table.

Now that Arthur knows about his magic, Merlin can be as obvious as he wants about Arthur’s chambers being warmed, his clothes being cleaned, his bath water being heated.

It doesn’t mean Merlin can be obvious in how he does these things, it just means he doesn’t have to waste time pretending to do them. Merlin couldn’t exactly appear with hot water minutes after Arthur had requested a bath. He had to hang around for a while to make it believable that the water had boiled.

Arthur has requested a bath that night, and a quickly whispered spell has the water remaining at the right temperature. Merlin is free to curl up in the window seat, sharpening Arthur’s sword and daydreaming about the upcoming feast. He is determined to get some good food out of this, if nothing else.

Arthur strides through the door to his chambers, still dressed in his armour. He tugs his leather gloves off with his teeth, hair tousled over his forehead.

“How long did you train for?” Merlin asks archly, taking in his dishevelled appearance. “You look like you’ve been dragged through a hedge.”

Arthur drops his gloves on the table. “Is that anyway to speak to your King?”

Merlin shrugs. “It’s how I speak to you, so it must be.”

Arthur is pulling his chain mail over his head, so his words are muffled, but Merlin is certain he catches the words ‘insolent’ and ‘brat.’

Arthur hangs his chain mail over a chair, before sauntering over to the bath. He dips his fingers in the water, sneaking a glance at Merlin under his lashes. “Perfect temperature.”

Merlin says nothing and continues to sharpen Arthur’s sword. He’s acutely aware in that moment he hasn’t used any blatant magic in front of Arthur. Not that Arthur was aware of, anyway. He heated the water before Arthur’s arrival, so Arthur never saw his eyes turn gold, never saw Merlin’s lips part to whisper those words.

“Hm,” Merlin says noncommittally, and Arthur doesn’t press the issue.

The King wanders back over to the bed, pulling off his boots. “What shall I get my Uncle for his birthday?”

“A horse to ride himself out of Camelot on,” Merlin mutters.

“What was that?” Arthur calls, and Merlin blanches. “Did you say horse? I hadn’t thought of that.”

Merlin sighs. “You’re not exactly asking the right person, Arthur. How would I know what rich men want for their birthdays?”

Arthur drums his heels against the side of the bed, looking thoughtful. “I wonder what the neighbouring kingdoms will bring him.”

Merlin clears his throat. “For the record - “

Arthur groans and flops backwards onto his sheets. Merlin ignores him. “For the record, I think holding a tournament now is a terrible idea.”

Arthur closes his eyes and rests his hands on his stomach. “And why is that?”

Merlin had only been pretending to polish his sword at this point, so he throws it aside. “Firstly, it brings a host of strangers into Camelot, strangers from rival kingdoms who are ready to test you as the new King! Secondly, because we’ve just come back from a fight against Morgana. Half of us aren’t physically recovered, let alone mentally!”

Arthur sighs. “I know. Leon won’t talk to me yet, but I’m hoping he’ll come by my chambers tomorrow.”

“What even happened?” Merlin asks, tucking his legs to his chest. “I didn’t even see Morgana in the end, I just broke Percival out and then ran into all of you.”

“Leon said that whilst he was there, Morgana just plotted for most of the time.” Arthur opens his eyes, staring up at the ceiling. “Rambled about me, about wiping me and the Pendragons from this world. She - she roughed him up a bit, but Leon said half the time it was like she forgot he was there. She was waiting for me.”

“And what happened when she found you? When the guards took you away?”

Arthur shrugs. “She knocked me about a little. Kept talking about her rightful place on the throne. I tried to reason with her, tried to remind her of what she used to be, but she was past that. I distracted her and Leon managed to get free, though a lot of that was dumb luck. Dumb luck and Morgana being completely - unhinged.”

Arthur sighs heavily, sorrow thick in his voice. Merlin’s own heart aches in sympathy. “There was a bit of a tussle, and then the other sorcerer just knocked her to the floor.”

Merlin frowns. “Just like that? This random sorcerer suddenly jumped to your defence?”

Arthur shrugs. “Honestly, it happened so fast I don’t really know what happened. One moment Morgana was screaming in our faces, the next she was out cold on the floor.”

Merlin frowns. “That’s so strange.”

“I don’t know why he helped us.” Arthur rubs at his eyes tiredly. “But he saved our lives, whoever he was. He told us she wouldn’t be out for long, so we needed to run. So that’s what we did.”

Merlin rests his chin on his knees. “Why didn’t you tell the council that?”

Arthur hesitates. “I - I don’t know.”

Arthur sits up abruptly, tugging his shirt over his head. It gives Merlin a clear view of Arthur’s chest, and Merlin looks away. He picks the sword up as Arthur disappears behind the screen. There’s the splash of water, and Merlin has to bite back at the groan at the thought of a very naked, very dripping Arthur, only a foot away from him.

“Do you think the tournament will bring sorcerors to Camelot?” Arthur calls through the screen.

Merlin shrugs, then remembers Arthur can’t see him. “Probably. They normally do.”

Arthur hums. “Like Valiant?”

Merlin snorts. “Valiant wasn’t a sorcerer. He just had an enchanted shield.”

He can practically hear Arthur rolling his eyes. “Oh, my bad. Thank you for highlighting that distinction.”

“You’re welcome,” Merlin calls back cheekily, and hears Arthur’s small huff of laughter. “Don’t worry, if there are any sorcerers, I’ll suss them out. I’ve got lots of experience with that.”

Arthur is quiet for a moment. “I suppose you do.”

Merlin has reached the limit at how much pretend polishing he can do, and he climbs to his feet reluctantly. Something about the screen between them makes the moment feel oddly intimate. Honesty is freer when you can’t see someone’s face, anonymity lending itself to easy words and shared secrets.

“I’ve finished polishing your sword. Do you need anything else?”

Arthur exhales. Merlin imagines him sinking into the tub, head tipped back and mouth parted as Arthur relaxes in the hot water.

“No. You’re free to go. Good night, Merlin.”

“Good night, Arthur,” Merlin answers softly, and slips out of the room.

-

The celebrations in Camelot are in full swing a week later. Merlin spends most of that week scowling and muttering to himself. Gaius eventually bans him from rounds with patients, saying they all report feeling worse after being faced with Merlin’s grumpiness.

Agravaine struts around the castle like a proud peacock, smug smile firmly in place. He’s been gifted a new cloak, a deep purple with silver thread. It billows behind him, and Merlin is desperate to stamp on the end and trip him, but Gaius forbids him from doing that.

The tournament stands are newly decorated, bright reds and golds, banners and flags fluttering in the wind. Representatives from the other kingdoms begin to trickle into Camelot, processions of horses and carriages. More than one Lord or Lady clearly has their eye on Arthur, which does nothing to lift Merlin’s foul mood.

The tournament will last for two days, concluding with a feast and, to Merlin’s horror, a ball. There have only been a handful of dances during Merlin’s time at Camelot, but they’re always a nightmare. All the nobles get horrendously drunk, and then they get horrendously amorous. Merlin and the rest of the servants spend the night clearing up spilled wine and trying not to look too closely at the couples in the corners.

Come to think of it, Arthur never joins in with the more raunchy parts of the evening. When he dances, his hands are always kept appropriately above the waist. He’ll have a cup of wine with the knights, more than one if it’s Leon asking, but he’s never dragged someone off for a romp on the balcony.

Not that Merlin spends his time thinking about who Arthur does or does not romp with on the castle balconies.

Anyway, Arthur is participating in the competition, of course, so Merlin spends his morning in one of the tents, preparing Arthur’s armour. Arthur is up in the main box overseeing the first half of the tourney with his Uncle, but Merlin prefers the quiet of the tent. He also prefers being anywhere Arthur’s Uncle isn’t.

Arthur ducks through the flap of the tent later that day, cheeks kissed pink by the cool air outside. “Ah, Merlin, there you are.”

Merlin holds up a sword, narrowing his eyes. “Do you think this is sharp enough?”

Arthur laughs. “I should hope so, I’m due out there in five minutes.”

Merlin inspects the blade some more. “It’ll do.”

“Glowing praise. Besides, I’m competing in a tournament, not going to war.”

“Like that makes you want to win any less,” Merlin scoffs, and Arthur shoots him a sharp grin.

“Why doesn’t Agravaine compete in the tournament?” Merlin asks as Arthur pulls on his vambraces.

“Because the tournament is in his honour.” Arthur picks up a pair of leather gloves. “He can’t compete in a tournament that’s for his entertainment.”

Damn. Merlin was hoping that Agravaine might join in later, increase the chance of him getting propelled from his horse.

“Competing in a tournament celebrating your birth would just be pure arrogance,” Arthur continues.

“Why didn’t you compete in that tourney for your birthday, then?” Merlin asks innocently, and Arthur makes a very rude gesture at him.

“Leon has already competed,” Arthur comments. “He’s done well so far. The knights from Gedreth are fierce, though.”

“Has Gwaine competed yet?”

Arthur's face pinches into a frown. “Not yet. He’s after me, I think.”

Merlin nods his head casually. “Just thought I’d ask, seeing as we’re courting and all.”

Arthur makes the second unprincely gesture in as many minutes. “Shut up, Merlin.”

“We are so madly in love,” Merlin teases, pretending to swoon, and Arthur throws a glove at him. “I should be out there now, giving Sir Gwaine my favour - “

The second glove hits him in the face, effectively cutting off his best impression of a love struck fool. “Ow!”

“Ask Gwaine to kiss it better,” Arthur says tartly. “It says a lot more about your standards than it does mine that I’d even believe you’d fancy Gwaine.”

Merlin snorts, wandering over to Arthur and slapping the glove against Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s hand comes up to catch it, but he doesn’t let go, trapping Merlin’s hand under his.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “You talk an awful lot about Gwaine for someone who doesn’t fancy him.”

“What?” Merlin splutters. “I’m just teasing - “

Arthur hums, somehow managing to make it sound as patronising as possible. “I don’t know, Merlin. This could all be one big misdirection - “

“I don’t fancy Gwaine!”

“There’d be no shame in you ducking out of the tent now, hurrying to give your one true love your favour - “

“Oh, like I’d give anyone my favour but you,” Merlin says dismissively, and freezes.

Arthur’s body is very still beneath Merlin’s hand. Distantly, Merlin notes all the distance between them has unravelled. They are standing close enough to feel each other’s breath, Merlin looking up into Arthur’s startled face.

His hand is still resting on Arthur’s chest.

Arthur wets his lips nervously. “Merlin.”

“It’s true,” Merlin says, helplessly caught in the blue of Arthur’s eyes. “If you wanted it.”

Arthur inhales quietly, something hot flaring in his eyes, and the same flames light in Merlin’s stomach.

“I do,” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin’s legs are trembling.

Slowly, Arthur slides his palm out from beneath Merlin’s. Cautiously, broadcasting his movements to give Merlin time to move away, he reaches for Merlin’s neck. Merlin doesn’t move away, and warm fingers brush against his skin. Arthur’s hands, hands that have fought wars and wielded swords and carried the weight of a kingdom, are painstakingly delicate as they untie the scarf around Merlin’s neck.

As Arthur pulls away, prize in his grip, one thumb catches Merlin’s collarbone, and Merlin shudders.

“Wait,” Merlin says hoarsely, and Arthur freezes in place.

Merlin takes the scarf from him. “Close your eyes.”

Arthur’s eyes flutter closed obediently. Merlin looks down at the fabric in his hands. He’d chosen a dark blue one today, but Merlin has another idea. A quick glance shows Arthur’s eyes are still shut. Merlin doesn’t need to whisper a spell for this, can just flash his eyes and let his magic do the rest.

“Okay,” Merlin says finally. “You can open them.”

Arthur looks down at the scarf, gasping in surprise. Merlin holds up the scarf, now turned a bright, vibrant red. Camelot red.

Arthur is gazing at him with awe, eyes soft and full of wonder, and Merlin feels himself flush. “Didn’t want to give you one that didn’t match that armour.”

Arthur holds his arm out, and Merlin wraps the scarf around it, tying it just below Arthur's biceps. To anyone else, it would just look like Arthur is wearing Camelot’s colours, has chosen a red ribbon to represent his kingdom. But Arthur will know what this means. And so will Merlin.

Merlin swallows. “Arthur, I - “

“Arthur!”

He and Arthur jerk apart as Agravaine bursts into the tent. Merlin stumbles backwards, turning away, heart thumping.

“The crowds are waiting for you!” Agravaine announces, clasping a hand on Arthur’s shoulder. “And so am I, I’m so excited to see my nephew compete!”

“Yes, I - “ Arthur fumbles for his sword, casting a desperate look at Merlin. “I was just, I’m - “

“Time for Camelot to see their King,” Agravaine beams, and steers Arthur from the tent.

Both of them look back at Merlin before they leave. Arthur’s look is inscrutable. Agravaine’s look is that of someone scraping horse dung off their boot.

Merlin waits until the tent is empty before screaming in frustration.

-

Arthur wins the tourney, because of course he does. There is a lot of cheering and celebrating, both from Camelot’s citizens and the foreign nobles, who have long been charmed by Arthur’s presence on the field.

There is a feast that night, but no dancing yet, thankfully. All the nobles that competed are in desperate need of a rest, so Merlin’s eyes are safe for one night.

Arthur is tired from his winning bout. He’s currently resting on his bed, idly thumbing through a book. He looks weary but satisfied, a small cut above his eyebrow from a splintered lance. He has his legs drawn up, book resting against his thighs.

Just looking at him makes Merlin feel warm and cozy. They can’t both fall asleep, so Merlin gives himself a shake. “Oi, Arthur. What do you want to wear to the feast?”

Arthur sighs. “The blue tunic.”

Merlin eyes the blue tunic appraisingly. “Good choice. It has more buttons than the red one. Harder for someone to rip it off you.”

Arthur groans. “Don’t start.”

Merlin ignores him. “Did you know eight people asked Percival to - to mingle at the last feast?”

“Leon had twelve offers.”

Merlin drops the tunic. “What? Are you serious?”

Arthur turns a page. “Yes.”

Merlin balls the tunic up and throws it at Arthur's head, but it falls embarrassingly short. “Why do you never tell me the interesting gossip?”

“I didn’t think it was that interesting,” Arthur snorts. “I had offers from double that number, but I didn’t think that was relevant either.”

Merlin’s heart twists painfully in his chest. “Oh. Did you - did you take any of them up on it?”

“Of course I didn’t,” Arthur scoffs. Merlin is about to make a comment about his arrogance, when Arthur continues. “They only ever want to sleep with me for my position. Or for power.”

The plain way that Arthur says it is so sad, that it stops Merlin in his tracks.

“None of them actually want me,” Arthur carries on blithely. “They just want access to the kingdom. Or, it’s some poor girl whose father has ordered her to get herself an heir. They’ve usually had a skinful to build up the courage to even talk to me. And no one can consent to anything after three cups of wine, or when your father is forcing you to get a leg over, so on a moral level it’s completely abhorrent - “

Merlin tunes out of Arthur’s musings, mind caught on Arthur’s previous statement. He wonders how many people have tried to use Arthur, tried to ensnare him to get what they want. Whether that’s an arranged marriage, or gold, or control of the kingdom. How many people weighed Arthur’s worth, what it’s done to Arthur’s self esteem to believe people view him as nothing more than an asset, or a stepping stone, or leverage.

“But at least the dancing isn’t until tomorrow night,” Arthur finishes decisively, jarring Merlin from his thoughts. “It’s always better to postpone that as long as possible.”

Merlin blinks rapidly, wiping surreptitiously at his eyes. “Yes, definitely.”

Arthur snaps his book shut. “I hate dancing.”

Merlin frowns. “You always look as though you’re enjoying yourself.”

“It's not like I have much of a choice.” Arthur tosses the book to one side. “I always feel as though everyone is watching me, waiting for me to put a foot wrong. And I have to dance with everyone at least once, or it’s an insult. But I can never dance with them twice, or I might as well have bedded them in front of the entire court - “

“Arthur!”

“It’s true!” Arthur protests, eyes lighting with amusement. “It’s what the councillors will believe my intentions are, might as well have an audience - “

“Arthur, stop,” Merlin demands, but can’t quite hide his burst of laughter.

Arthur swings his legs over the side of the bed, sauntering over to the clothes Merlin has prepared. “What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve never bedded someone in front of the entire court.”

“Well, there’s still time,” Arthur says condescendingly. He smirks at Merlin’s double take, tightening his black belt around his waist. “No, I meant dances. How did you celebrate in Ealdor?”

Merlin looks at him, puzzled. “Why?”

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t know anything about your life before coming to Camelot. It seems even more important now.”

Merlin smiles, oddly touched. Arthur is dressed in deep blue tonight, silver threaded through his tunic like a midnight sky. “We didn’t have much to celebrate, but there were festivities in the mid summer. We would celebrate the harvest, share what food we had. The villagers would organise a dance around the fire.”

Merlin swallows at the sudden wave of nostalgia. “Will could usually convince one of the village boys to dance with him. Sometimes one of the village girls, but the girls were often wiser to his charms. They would dance until the fire went down, then would all complain the next morning when they still had chores to do.”

“They,” Arthur repeats quietly. “Not you?”

“I had nothing to complain about, because I never danced until the fire died down,” Merlin says stiffly. “No one wanted to dance with the village freak.”

Arthur had been in the middle of picking up his crown to place on his head, but he abruptly drops it. It hits the floor with a clatter and rolls across the stone. Merlin winces, gathering it up quickly. “Arthur, your crown - “

“Dance with me,” Arthur blurts.

Merlin drops the crown. Neither of them pick it up. “What?”

“Dance with me,” Arthur repeats, and holds out a hand. His voice is steady but his hand is trembling.

Merlin’s heart is knocking against his rib cage, all the blood rushing to his head. “I don’t know - you - what?”

Arthur doesn’t lower his hand. “Dance with me. To prove all those idiots in Ealdor wrong. And to help me practice.”

Warmth unfurls in Merlin’s chest, glows beneath his bones like a tiny sun. His feet move on their own accord, and he takes Arthur’s hand.

Arthur’s fingers lace through his. Merlin rests a tentative hand on Arthur’s shoulders, steps closer and feels a thrill at Arthur’s proximity. Arthur’s fingers curve around Merlin’s hip, a shiver dancing down his spine at Arthur’s strong, proprietary grip.

“I don’t know how to dance,” Merlin admits.

Arthur draws him closer, holds Merlin like he is something unbearably precious. “Just follow my lead.”

“Don’t I always?” Merlin quips, with a bravery he doesn’t feel.

Arthur guides Merlin through a simple dance. Merlin trips over his feet a few times, their laughter a rush of breath between them. Arthur’s hands are strong when they steady him. They try to speed up at one point, but fail miserably, so fall back to Arthur leading Merlin in slow circles.

Being here, being held in the circle of Arthur’s arms, Merlin has never been so truly happy. It’s a happiness that feels delicate, tentative. A happiness he doesn’t dare touch, for fear it would disappear beneath his finger tips.

He never believed he could feel this way, and it’s not until Arthur makes a small noise of worry, that he realises he’s crying.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs anxiously. “Merlin, what is it?”

Arthur stops moving, but Merlin tugs at his hands, squeezes Arthur’s shoulder until they begin to move again. “It’s nothing. I’m just - “

He trails off. Arthur observes him for a moment, before gently letting go of Merlin’s palm. Instead, he curves both hands around Merlin’s waist. Instinctively, Merlin curls his hands around Arthur’s neck.

This is a different way to dance, draws them even closer together. Arthur sways them on the spot, bodies aligned. They are so close that Merlin could press their mouths together with a single step.

“I’m just really happy,” Merlin finishes, and leans forward.

The door slams open with a bang.

Merlin must have done something truly terrible in a past life.

It’s shock more than anything that has Arthur dropping his grip like his hands are on fire. Merlin, for his part, topples backwards and slams his hip into the side of a chair.

Arthur winces. “Are you okay - “

“You’re late for the feast!” Gwaine yells, followed by a thumping noise and a groan of pain. “You asked me to go get the King!”

“No, I didn’t,” hisses a very harried looking Leon. “Sire, I can assure you I merely - “

“I’m starving and none of the nobles will start without you,” Gwaine interrupts. “Also, there may be a slight complication with the knights of Gedreth.”

Arthur stares at him. “What do you mean a slight complication?”

Percival pokes his head around the door. “Gwaine challenged them to a drinking competition.”

Gwaine glares at him. “Percival, if you rat me out one more time - “

“Are you actually children?” Merlin snaps angrily. All the knights abruptly fall silent. “Is it possible for you to last five minutes without driving me insane?”

Gwaine blinks at him, then opens his mouth. “I mean - “

“Shut up, Gwaine!” Merlin yells, and shoves past the whole pack of them.

Gwaine actually looks a bit worried now. “Merlin, we didn’t - “

Merlin halts in his dramatic storming out to pause by Leon. “Leon, you’re not included in that comment.”

Leon looks distinctly pleased. “Oh. Thanks.”

“Merlin, I - “

“Learn to bloody knock, Gwaine!” Merlin shouts, and jabs Gwaine in the chest with his finger. And then, because things really can’t get any worse, Merlin says quickly, “See you later, Arthur.”

“See you later,” Arthur says, in what might be faint awe, but Merlin will never know for sure, because he’s already slammed the door shut behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 50k and they haven't even KISSED yet  
slowest of all slow burns  
bet you thought they were going to kiss 
> 
> i always think of clever things to say in my AN and then by the time I've posted the chapter, I'm either too tired or forgotten what I was going to say. Today I am tired and a little sad and had a long day, so haven’t go much to say 
> 
> there are a handful of hints in this chapter that will play out later on which people might have spotted. 
> 
> oh, one thing to say in this AN - which no one of you have asked - the tile of this fic is from tangled, it's in the reprise rapunzel sings when she finally leaves the tower. tangled is a bomb film and honestly would make an interesting merthur au, but can't really think about that when theres 11 chapters left of this to right lmaoo 
> 
> I love Arthur sm and not to be pretentious but getting to write makes me feel like I know him better as a character? Or at least how I see his character! My take is that’s he’s so used to people seeing him as piece in a game, and it’s not like Uther exactly dissuaded that given he was constantly telling Arthur to marry for the kingdom and stuffs plus Uther was a shit head, ANYWAY my point is I think Arthur wouldn’t have low self esteem exactly, but more just value himself on the value he is to others. Until Merlin came along and didn’t really care about that and just loved him for him 
> 
> anyway I am so incredibly grateful for every comment I get on this, it honestly makes me so, so happy, so thank you for everyone who has ever read this! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of this chapter is based on an episode in season 4. i have changed the plot around a fair bit and only a small part - one conversation i think - is similar to the show, (cause I personally hate it when fics are word for word to the episode). so hopefully people don't find it too irritating lol 
> 
> thank you as ever for allll your comments. i got so excited seeing them in my inbox, so thank you thank you thank you

Life, rather rudely in Merlin’s opinion, continues on. 

Life doesn’t care about Merlin’s opinion. It doesn’t care about his and Arthur’s melodrama. Life doesn’t spare you five minutes for a nice little interlude of romance and self discovery, especially not when your kingdom is on the brink of war. 

Well. That’s what Agravaine is going around saying. Merlin would like to pin it on Agravaine being the melodramatic one, but he has a feeling it’s more than that. Even Merlin has to admit the idea of all out war doesn’t appear that far fetched, now. 

Carleon never sent a representative to the celebrations for Agravaine. Every other kingdom did, be it a knight or a noble lady or even a portly Lord who drank too much ale and keeled over by the end of the night. Even when all the kingdoms hate each other, (though generally most are on civil if not good terms with Camelot), customs are important. Gestures of etiquette and respect are expected, bows and gifts and carefully crafted smiles, even if they are through gritted teeth. 

Carleon not sending a member of their court to pay their respects, is a pretty big slap in the face.

Carleon raiding two of Camelot’s villages a week later, is a punch to the stomach. 

Merlin can see how the weight settles on Arthur’s shoulders, the way he bears it wordlessly, drawn and serious. To the eyes of the court, Arthur is composed and regal and in control. Merlin watches Arthur a lot more closely, and he can see how tightly Arthur is keeping his true emotions in check.

There’s so much to do that Merlin doesn’t have time to catch his breath, let alone have a proper conversation with Arthur. Arthur is holed up in meeting after meeting, pouring over maps and consulting with his advisers. Merlin spends half his time helping Arthur, and the rest of his time taking down the decorations from the celebrations, cleaning all the guest chambers and putting the castle back in order.

Arthur comes to a decision a few days later. When Merlin attends the King’s chambers that night, Arthur is hunched over sheets of parchment, brow furrowed. 

“Good evening, Arthur,” Merlin calls softly, then, “Shit!” when he tips the plate he’s holding and gravy spills over his hand.

Arthur doesn’t look up from the papers he’s reading, reaching for his quill. Merlin sets the plates on the table with a vengeance, (that gravy really burnt his thumb), but Arthur doesn’t appear to notice that either.

Merlin sighs and plucks a roast potato from Arthur’s plate. He eats it whilst he lights the fires, before moving onto straightening Arthur’s bedsheets. When he’s done, Arthur hasn’t moved from his chair, resting his chin on his hand.  
Merlin wanders over to Arthur’s desk. “What are you looking at?”

Arthur pulls a map closer to him. “Maps of our borders. So Carleon can’t deny he crossed them.”

Merlin hovers in front of him. “So what is the plan? Are you going to ride out?”

Arthur puts the map down, leaning back in his chair. “We’re going to ambush Carleon and his men. Ideally we’d catch him during a raid, but we can’t predict where he’ll strike next. And I can’t post knights in every village on the border.”

Merlin nods. “So you lead Carleon into an ambush, capture him and then what?”

Arthur rubs a tired hand over his face. “I don’t know.”

Merlin exhales slowly. “Oh.”

“Carleon’s father and my father had an agreement,” Arthur says quietly. “They created a peace treaty and kept to it. But since I’ve been King, Carleon’s been raiding our villages, close to our borders at first, but now within them. Ignoring the invitation to my Uncle’s celebrations was the latest in his acts of antagonism. It’s like he’s spoiling for a fight.”

“That’s what Gaius said. He was worried that if any of Carleon’s knights did come to Camelot, then they’d just cause trouble.”

Arthur fiddles with his quill. “My Uncle said - he wonders whether Carleon doesn’t respect me as a leader. If Carleon doesn’t hold me in the same regard as he did my father.”

Fury lashes in Merlin like a whip, and he snaps without thinking, “Carleon’s kingdom didn’t respect your father, they feared him!”

Arthur’s eyes widen and Merlin mentally beats himself around the head with a saucepan. “Arthur, I’m sorry, I only meant - “

“Did you?”

“Did I - did I what?”

“Fear my father.”

Merlin has no idea how to answer that, is impossibly caught beneath the truth and not hurting Arthur further. Quite frankly, Merlin hated Uther, hated him for his bigotry and his cruelty, and hated, hated, hated him for how he treated his only son.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs. When Merlin meets his gaze, Arthur just looks sad. Such a simple word, but that’s all Merlin can think of. Resigned and hollow and sad. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. I’m well aware of how cruel my father could be, how he - “

“I was at first,” Merlin blurts, cutting him off. “When I first came to Camelot, I was terrified that he’d find out, that my secret would be revealed. But after a while, once I’d known you for so long, I - I realised something.”

Arthur leans forward. “What did you realise?”

Merlin isn’t sure how to put in words the power that sings beneath his skin, the very connection he has to the earth, the sky, the stars. Power that has only grown as he used it to save Arthur’s life, as he could share who he was with Gaius, with the dragon, as he learnt more and more of what his magic could do.

It’s equally difficult to vocalise the depth of his regard for Arthur, the strings that entwine their hearts, join their souls. Two halves of a whole. 

Merlin, finally, knows who he is and where his place is in the world.

If it had come down to it, Uther Pendragon wouldn’t have had the chance to lay so much as a finger on him.

“I realised,” Merlin says carefully, “that no one had the power to take me from your side.”

Arthur’s mouth drops open. 

Merlin swallows, suddenly feeling uncontrollably warm. “Now, can you come eat your dinner before it gets cold?”

“I have no idea what I did to deserve you,” Arthur answers instead, as smooth and warm as drizzled honey, and Merlin’s stomach bottoms out.

Whilst Merlin is trying to formulate a response, Arthur rises from his chair. “Have you eaten?” 

Merlin blinks. “What?”

“The food is getting cold, Merlin,” Arthur reminds him, wrapping a hand around Merlin’s wrist and propelling him towards a chair.

Merlin will blame his heart palpitations on the fact he doesn’t register that he's sitting down at Arthur’s table, until Arthur places a plate of food in front of him.

Merlin’s first instinct is to shove another potato into his mouth. Means he doesn’t have to try to form words yet. Also, these roast potatoes are really good.

Arthur picks up his own knife, absently spinning it in his fingers. “We’ll need to use someone to lure Carleon out. He seems the arrogant sort. He won’t think one lone knight will cause him any problems.”

“You’re not being the bait, Arthur,” Merlin says automatically, then scowls at Arthur’s attempt at a shocked face. “Don’t look at me like that, I know you’ve considered it. You’re worse than the knights, who are the biggest group of idiotic adrenaline seekers I’ve ever seen.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow. “I’ll have you know, Merlin, I am the King. I would never deliberately engage in reckless acts of bravery.”

“You’re a terrible liar too,” Merlin frowns, and Arthur snorts in amusement.

“I hadn’t even considered being the bait,” Arthur lies terribly. “We’re hoping to corner Carleon in the valley, I need to be there to lead my men. Besides, someone’s already volunteered.”

“Leon,” they say at the same time.

Arthur nods. “But I need Leon there, too, just in case we need to split up.” 

Merlin sits up abruptly. “What if I was the bait?”

Arthur stares at him. “Merlin - “

“What have I got to do?” Merlin asks. “Lure Carleon out, have him chase me across a field and lead him straight into your trap? Is that it?”

Arthur hesitates. “Well, yes. But - “

Merlin scoffs. “That’s easy.” 

“I know, but I don’t think - “

“Do I get to wear a costume?” Merlin demands.

Arthur puts his head in his hands. “You would probably have to dress up as a knight.”

“I’m doing it,” Merlin decides immediately. Arthur groans. “Come on, Arthur! It makes sense, I can lure Carleon’s men to where you and the knights are waiting!”

Arthur shakes his head. “Merlin, it’s a huge risk, I couldn’t - “

“Good thing I’m an all powerful sorcerer then, isn’t it?” Merlin interrupts. Arthur pauses. “Arthur, did you forget that?”

“No!” Arthur protests. “I’m just still getting used to knowing what you can do. And I haven’t actually seen you use any magic yet.”

“Oh.” Merlin looks down at his hands. He keeps forgetting that. Arthur even had his eyes closed when Merlin changed the colour of his scarf. “It’s better this way.”

Arthur’s foot knocks against his under the table. “What is?”

Merlin clears his throat. “You knowing. Being able to plan things together. Not having to sneak around.”

Arthur reaches across the table and takes Merlin’s hand. He links their fingers together, rubbing his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles. “Merlin, I know we haven’t had an opportunity to talk about the other day.” 

Merlin is sure his hand is trembling, even wrapped in Arthur’s strong one. “That’s okay. We’ve both been pretty busy.”

“Busier still with these attacks from Caerleon,” Arthur begins carefully.

Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand. “Arthur, I understand.”

“You do?” Arthur asks hopefully. 

Merlin nods his head. “Of course I do. As much as I’d like to talk about this, we ride for Caerleon in the morning. It’s not exactly great timing.”

“I need to have a clear head,” Arthur explains awkwardly. “Especially in a situation like this, where Caerleon is just waiting for me to make a mistake.”

Merlin frowns. “Arthur, I understand. You don’t have to explain - “

“If I start thinking about you, I won’t be able to think about anything else,” Arthur blurts. 

Merlin abruptly turns pink. “Oh.” 

Arthur is also a fetching shade of pink. “What I’m trying to say is not right now, but. Later?”

“Later,” Merlin agrees softly, and then they grin at each other over the table like idiots.

After a long moment, Arthur clears his throat. “It’s late. Caerleon’s kingdom is half a day’s ride and we’ll leave early. You should get some rest.”

Merlin meant what he said, understands that with the fate of the kingdom in his hands, now isn’t the time to have a heart to heart. Still, a tiny selfish part of himself wishes he could stay for longer. (A tiny, romantic part of himself wonders if there’ll be a day when he doesn’t have to leave Arthur’s chambers at all.) 

Merlin lets go of Arthur’s hand and climbs to his feet tiredly. “You’re right. Besides, I need time to prepare for my big performance.”

“Yes. Really get into that headspace,” Arthur agrees, mock serious, and Merlin pulls a face at him.

Arthur stands from the table, rubbing at his eyes. The easy peace between them falls away, tension lining Arthur’s frame.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls. He was almost by the door, but he halts, turning around. “Arthur, please try to get some sleep. I don’t know what we’ll face tomorrow, but you are a good King. I know you’ll make the right decision.”

“Good night, Merlin,” Arthur replies absently. Merlin can practically see the thoughts running through Arthur’s mind, could almost hear them Arthur is thinking so loud.

Merlin crosses over to where Arthur is still standing. Arthur’s brow furrows, but he falls silent when Merlin lifts on his toes and presses a soft kiss to Arthur’s cheek.

“Go to sleep, Arthur,” Merlin murmurs, and makes his leave.

Just before the door closes behind him, he hears Arthur call a soft, “Sweet dreams, Merlin.”

-

Merlin wakes sometime after dawn and doesn’t bother going back to sleep. There’s too many things to do and besides, he’s too full of adrenaline to rest another second. He can’t quite believe he summoned the courage to kiss Arthur. Admittedly, not on that full, plush mouth, like Merlin had really wanted, but even Merlin can prioritise. Time and place and all that.

Gaius is awake early, too, hovering around Merlin and fussing over him like the mother hen he is. Merlin doesn’t overly mind it, lets Gaius shove an apple into his hand and tut over the way his hair won’t flatten at the back. He knows Gaius is just worried, and a part of Merlin is too. Caerleon clearly has it out for Arthur, and with Agravaine lurking on the sidelines, Merlin is having to keep a careful eye on all angles of this spiderweb. 

Gaius finally lets him go, and Merlin rushes to the stables to prepare the horses. Gwaine catches his eye as he leads them out into the courtyard, falling into step beside him. “Ah, Merlin. I’ve been looking for you.”  
Merlin snorts. “Obviously not very hard, I’m pretty easy to find.”

“Shut up,” Gwaine says easily. “I’ve been meaning to talk to you. And it’s not about you being a sorcerer, or about you being in love with Arthur - “

“Gwaine!” Merlin hisses. “Did you want to say that any louder?”

Gwaine ignores him, reaching out a tentative hand to stroke Apollo’s nose. “I think the demon horse likes me now.”

“He’s not a demon horse,” Merlin chides. “And he did save your life, in a way. I suppose you bonded on your ride back to Camelot.”

“Then that’s two people I owe a life debt to,” Gwaine muses, withdrawing his fingers slowly, as though making sure Apollo won’t take a chunk out of them. “What do you think of Agravaine?”

At Merlin’s look, Gwaine clarifies. “I meant, what do you think of his strategy? I’m starting to wonder if he took a page out of the Uther Pendragon guide to ruling a kingdom. He seems pretty keen for Arthur to get back at Caerleon. I heard them talking the other day.”

“Really?” Merlin gasps. “What did he say?”

Gwaine shrugs. “I didn’t catch all of it. Said he thinks Arthur needs to teach the kingdom of Caerleon a lesson. That these attacks have only happened since Uther died. Basically implying everyone thinks Arthur is weak, because he doesn’t go around lopping people’s heads off. I just don’t want him putting ideas in the King’s head, you know? Arthur has enough to deal with.”

“I’ll keep an eye on it,” Merlin promises. “Gwaine, what about you?”

Gwaine takes the reigns of his own horse from a passing squire. “What about me?”

“This ambush,” Merlin says meaningfully. “Your father was a knight for Caerleon’s army, wasn’t he? For the old King?”

Gwaine sighs. “Aye. And it seems like the current King is just as much as a bastard as his father was.” Gwaine clasps a hand to Merlin’s shoulder, before swinging up into his saddle. “You’re a good friend, Merlin. But don’t worry about me. I’ve put that ghost to rest.”

“Okay,” Merlin says doubtfully, but Gwaine just winks at him before trotting over to annoy Percival. 

Apollo nudges his arm, huffing softly. Merlin looks around for Arthur, finding him almost instantly. Arthur is stood next to Leon, which isn’t odd. What is odd, however, is the fact they’re whispering to each other. Two heads bent together, Leon occasionally glancing around, to check no one can overhear.

They stop talking as soon as Merlin gets in earshot. Merlin purses his lips. “What are you two talking about?”

“Nothing,” Arthur says immediately. “Pass me my horse, please.”

“It obviously isn’t nothing,” Merlin says suspiciously, handing Apollo over. “What was the topic of conversation?”

Arthur climbs onto Apollo. “The topic of conversation is I’m the King of Camelot and I don’t have to tell you.”

Merlin turns to Leon, who takes a step back.

“Leon,” Merlin says sweetly. “What were you and the King of Camelot talking about?”

“I have to prepare my horse,” Leon says swiftly, and hurries off.

“Coward,” Merlin mutters. He mounts his own mare, drawing her closer to Arthur. “Arthur, do you - “

“Merlin,” Arthur interrupts. Merlin is going to tell him off, but Arthur appears transfixed on something in front of him. “Have you ever noticed anything strange about Apollo?”

Merlin blinks. “You mean the trying to bite everybody thing? I think he’ll grow out of that.”

“No,” Arthur says in a strangled voice. “Have you noticed the fact he’s a big black horse?”

“I think it’s difficult for anyone with eyes not to notice that,” Merlin says slowly. “Is this what you were talking to Leon about?”

“No,” Arthur snaps. “It’s just, you said that sometimes - sometimes they take the shape of big black horses.”

“Who does?”

“The chambermaids,” Arthur snaps. “Phookas, you idiot. You said phooka sometimes take the shape of big black horses.” 

“Oh,” Merlin says in realisation. “Oh. Well, I did. But Apollo isn’t a phooka. He’s just a horse.”

“Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Merlin reassures him. “Arthur, there are no phookas in Camelot. I don’t know if there ever has been, they are so rare. If there ever were, they’d have all been driven out during the Great Purge. You’re not going to bump into one.”

“Oh.” Arthur pats Apollo’s neck. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure,” Merlin says firmly. “You don’t have anything to worry about.”

He looks at Arthur, trying to convey to him that everything is okay. But it isn’t fear that’s etched over Arthur’s features. Merlin feels an odd pang in his chest at the sudden idea that Arthur almost looks wistful.

Merlin places a tentative hand on Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, did you - did you want there to be phookas living in Camelot?”

Arthur is looking down at the reins in his hands. “The one we met wasn’t so bad.”

“No,” Merlin says quietly, holding his breath. “No. He wasn’t so bad.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully. “If magic returned to Camelot, do you think they’d return too?”

Merlin can’t breathe, all the air caught in his lungs. He stares at Arthur in amazement, fierce blue eyes gazing back at him. 

“Sire!” someone calls, but Arthur doesn’t look away.

“It’s just something I’ve been wondering,” Arthur murmurs quietly, and then he urges his horse forward, barking orders at his men.

Merlin stays frozen in place for so long, that a passing Percival, sounding genuinely concerned, asks him if he’s forgotten how to ride. 

-

Arthur does a double take when he sees Merlin in the knight’s armour.

“Do you like it?” Merlin asks innocently, then smirks when Arthur appears temporarily speechless.

Leon, who has been trying to remain uninvolved, but has no choice now his King is momentarily out of action, heaves a great sigh. “Merlin, do you know what the plan is?”

Merlin grins at him. “I’m the bait. Arthur, does this cape fit me properly?”  
Arthur groans. Leon looks ready to cry. “If we could just go over it one more time. Merlin, do you know what you have to do?”

“Draw out Caerleon, make him chase me, lead him straight into your trap,” Merlin recites for the fifteenth time. “Do you think this armour - “

“We’re going to set up the trap now,” Leon says firmly, and drags Arthur towards the valley they should have been hiding in fifteen minutes ago.

-

As Merlin suspected, being the bait is pretty easy. Careleon and his men are apparently stupid enough to think a knight of Camelot would be wandering the hills alone. They spot Merlin around the same time Merlin spots them, and he leads them on a merry chase.

Even without his magic, Merlin could out run a pack of bandits any day. He’s a pretty fast runner now, out of necessity rather than any desire to actually exercise. (Leave that to Arthur.)

In the end, it’s simple enough to lead them straight into the valley where Arthur and his knights are hidden. Arthur overpowers them easily, ordering his men to tie up the survivors. Merlin is still catching his breath, when Agravaine stalks over to a dark haired knight, face turned away.

“Sire!” Agravaine announces loudly. “Over here!”

He rips something from the man’s chest, handing it to Arthur. Merlin peers over Arthur’s shoulder. “What is it?”

“This, Merlin,” Arthur says grimly, “is the royal crest of Caerleon. Isn’t that right, your highness?”

The dark haired man, who Merlin realises with a jolt is King Caerelon himself, spits at Arthur’s boots.

Arthur doesn’t even react, just gestures to his men. “Place him with the others. Keep them heavily guarded.”

-

Night falls quickly, shadows drawing in on their camp. Arthur doubles the guards watching the prisoners, though they don’t seem to be causing any problems, yet. Merlin notes most of the men seem to ignore their king, slumped in their bonds and occasionally making rude comments to Arthur’s knights. 

Merlin wonders how much they care for Caerleon’s brutal ways. He wonders if any of them are truly loyal to him, or if their show of dispassion is just an indicator they’re as brutal as Caerleon is, that in reality they are not loyal to anyone. 

Caerleon watches Arthur with dark, bitter eyes, and Merlin finds himself drawing closer to Arthur’s side. 

After the fires are lit for the night, Agravaine corners Arthur by the camp side. Leon and Percival are resting in their tents, Gwaine taking the first watch over Caerleon and his men. Something uneasy settles under Merlin’s skin at the sight of Agravaine and Arthur sat side by side, nothing but their two shadows to keep them company. 

Merlin gathers more firewood, unobtrusive and unnoticed as Agravaine begins to weave his web. “You have shown great strength today, Sire.”

Arthur takes a sip of his cup. “Thank you, Uncle. And thank you for your counsel.”

Agravaine reaches out and clinks his cup against Arthur’s. “You have captured not only his men, but Caerleon himself. Of course, now all that needs to be decided is what you’re going to do with him.”

“We’re not even close to Camelot’s borders,” Arthur says quietly. “Yet, Caerleon attacked us here. It’s not the first time he’s done it, but this is the heart of the kingdom. He took a great risk coming here.”

“I fear that he did not see it one.”

“What do you mean?”

“Caerleon respected your father because he was a strong, powerful King. To your enemies, to Camelot’s enemies, you are still untested. You must send a clear message tomorrow, not just to Caerleon, but to Odin. To Bayard. To everyone who views Camelot as weak.”

Arthur sounds uncertain. “What do you suggest?”

“Force him to sign a treaty on our terms,” Agravaine says immediately, a spider ready to pounce. “Force him to give up the city of Everswick.”

Arthur inhales. “Caerleon will never agree to that.”

“Then he will face the consequences,” Agravaine says coldly. “You must assert your authority on this land in whatever means necessary.”

“There has to be another way,” Arthur protests, and Merlin can’t hear any more.

He drops his firewood with a clatter, stalking into the forest. Bile rises in his throat, and he collapses against a tree. He’s panting like he’s ran a marathon, nails cutting into his palms from where his hands are balled into fists.

Merlin knows exactly what Agravaine is doing. Undermining Arthur, subtly making him doubt himself. Throwing examples of Uther at him, to further throw Arthur off kilter. All whilst smiling and laughing and clasping Arthur’s shoulder, like a doting Uncle would. 

Agravaine wants war, Merlin realises dully. Or Camelot’s ruin. Caerleon’s death will see to that. His Queen will retaliate, or his people. And even if they don’t, there will be another opportunity for Agravaine to corrupt. When will it end? What will Agravaine manipulate Arthur into doing next?

It takes Merlin a long time to calm down. His rage is so great, that the ground is smouldering beneath his feet. His magic has spilt out of him and burnt the ground below. Merlin waves a hand and makes sure the grass is replaced as he’s leaving. 

He is fractionally calmer once he enters Arthur’s tents. Arthur is still awake, absently playing with a dagger. He looks up at Merlin’s approach, eyes gold in the candle light. “Merlin. I wondered where you’d gone.”

“Sorry,” Merlin mutters, scuffing his boot along the floor. “I’ve been thinking.”

Arthur rests his chin on his palm. “So have I.”

“Arthur, please listen to me,” Merlin begs. “If I’ve ever meant anything to you, please just - “

“Merlin!” Arthur says in alarm, getting to his feet. “Of course you mean something to me! What is this about?”

“You have a good heart, Arthur Pendragon,” Merlin says shakily. “You have always had a good heart.”

“Merlin - “

“And all I ask,” Merlin continues. “Is that you use your heart to decide what path you take. Not the words of others, or the fear that threatens to take hold of us. All I ask is you do what you feel is right.”

Arthur’s voice trembles. “What if that isn’t enough? What if it isn’t that simple?”

“Then we’ll figure it out together.”

Arthur stares at him. “My Uncle thinks I should kill Caerleon. If he doesn’t sign the treaty.”

Merlin bites his lip. “And what do you think?”

“I think there is no honour in killing a defenceless man,” Arthur says quietly. “I also think we can’t allow Caerleon’s action to go unchecked.”

“Then we don’t,” Merlin says bluntly. “We find another way. Arthur, you are the best tactician in the kingdom. There has to be another solution. If anyone can find one, it’s you.”

Arthur shakes his head. “It can’t be that easy.”

“Arthur, it isn’t that easy,” Merlin points out, and a smile flickers at the corner of Arthur’s mouth. “None of this is easy. And you don’t have much time, which makes it even more difficult. But I know we can find a way out of this, Arthur. One that doesn’t involve senseless bloodshed.”

Arthur appraises him, one hand drawn to his mouth in contemplation. Merlin’s stares back, heart in his mouth as he holds onto his one scrap of hope with tight hands.

“Well,” Arthur says eventually, and thrusts a stack of parchments at him. “We better get to work.”

-

Seeing Agravaine’s expression the next morning is truly the best moment of Merlin’s life.

“Sire, you’re - we’re - you’ve decided what?” Agravaine sputters.

“We’re returning Caerleon to his castle,” Arthur repeats cheerfully. 

“To his castle?” Agravaine manages.

(Truly, truly the best moment of his life.)

Agravaine attempts to pull himself together somewhat. “Sire, not to question your judgement, but is that wise? We have Caerleon in our grip, we can’t let him go!”

“To clarify, we’re delivering him to his castle, then demanding an audience with him in front of his entire court.” Arthur sheaths his sword. “Should be difficult for him to refuse, given we will be standing in his throne room.”

Agravaine opens and closes his mouth several times. Arthur clambers onto his horse, unperturbed. “There’s no time to stand around. We need to ride out.”

Arthur trots off and Merlin can’t help his snort of laughter. Agravaine whirls around, eyes narrowing. He takes a threatening step forward. Merlin suddenly isn’t feeling so humorous.

Agravaine’s eyes flash. “Did you - “

“Time to go,” Percival says loudly, appearing out of thin air. “Merlin, do you think you could check my shoulder later? I think I might have strained it.”

“Sure,” Merlin says quickly, and follows Percival away from the tents.

“You should watch out for him,” Percival advises quietly. “I don’t reckon he’s the type of noble Arthur is. The type of noble they all should be.”

“Thanks, Percival,” Merlin smiles, and hurries to catch up with Arthur.

Arthur wasn’t exaggerating. They ride to Caerleon’s castle, a procession of silver and red, interspersed by Caereleon’s men. Once they arrive at the gates, Arthur follows Caerleon through the corridors as though it’s his own castle. 

Caerleon is growing more agitated, like a snarling dog straining at its rope. By the time they reach the throne room, Caerleon kicks the door open, eliciting gasps from his court. There’s a lady sat on one of two thrones, a silver circlet nestled in her auburn hair. 

She rises at their entrance. “Caerleon? What is the meaning of this?”

“Queen Annis,” Arthur greets her calmly, coming to a stop in the centre of the room. “I am Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

Caerleon ignores Arthur and stalks to his throne, throwing himself down in it. Annis’ eyes flicker to her husband, before turning back to Arthur. “Well met, Arthur Pendragon. I must say, this is the politest siege I’ve ever experienced.”

Merlin ducks his head to hide his smile as Arthur replies. “This is not a siege, your highness. I am here seeking an audience with the King of Caerleon.”

“You are an insolent boy, playing at being king,” Caerleon spits. “This is a trick, under the pretence of honour - “

“Interesting that you would mention honour,” Arthur interjects coolly. “What honour is there in raiding Camelot’s villages?”

Silence falls. Annis’ gaze snaps to her husband.

“What honour is there in burning their crops?” Arthur continues calmly, voice ringing through the chamber. “What honour is there in terrorising innocent people? Innocent women. Children. Killing defenceless people and condemning the rest to starve.”

“Do not speak to me of honour,” Arthur warns icily, and takes a step forward. “When you break a decade long treaty, endangering not only my people, but yours, with the threat of war.”

Some of the court look horrified. Some just look stoic. Annis is stone faced. Merlin is hit with the sudden certainty that she didn’t know about her husband’s action.

Arthur shakes his head. “I do not seek war, Caerleon. There has been peace between our kingdoms before and I hope for it again. But your actions cannot be left unchecked. My people have still suffered at your hand and it seems to me there is only one option left.”

Caerleon snorts, but Merlin can see the uneasy way he moves in his seat. “And what would that be, boy?”

“I evoke the right of single combat,” Arthur announces clearly, and a ripple goes through the room. Arthur speaks over it. “Two champions, to settle this matter between them.”

Caerleon lets out a bark of laughter. “And what would be your terms?”

“If my champion wins, you will sign a new peace treaty. If your champion wins, you shall keep the villages you raided.”

Merlin can hear Gwaine suck in a breath beside him, and he nudges him in the side reassuringly. 

“Arthur knows what he’s doing,” he murmurs, and Gwaine nods slowly.

“And who would you name your champion?” Annis asks. 

“That would be me,” Arthur answers casually, and the whispers in the room double in noise. “Though I’d of course understand if King Caerleon had reservations about fighting a.. Boy.”

“I have no such reservations!” Caerleon roars, pushing up from his throne. “We fight tomorrow, at noon.”

“Tomorrow at noon,” Arthur echoes. “I shall see you on the battlefield.”

“Get out of my castle,” Caerleon thunders, and Arthur bows his head. 

“Until tomorrow, your highness,” Arthur says politely, as courteous as though he was attending a garden party, and then he strides out of the hall. 

Gods. Merlin has never wanted to kiss someone so badly in his life. 

Gwaine grabs his arm. “Did you know he was going to do that?”

Merlin grins. “I had an inkling.”

-

The ride back to their encampment is a bit of a blur; largely because Arthur being commanding and competent and kingly is apparently enough to get Merlin very hot and bothered. The image of Arthur striding into someone else’s castle and verbally eviscerating them all, powerful and passionate and strong, is an image that has Merlin squirming in his saddle. 

Merlin is still feeling so flushed at how effortlessly Arthur took control, that he almost falls flat on his face when Gwaine catches him unawares and yanks him into Arthur’s tent. 

“Gwaine! That really hurt!” Merlin complains, righting himself.

“Tell Arthur this is a terrible idea!” Gwaine commands him. 

Merlin rolls his eyes, taking in the scene before him. Gwaine and Percival are standing in front of Arthur, arms crossed. Percival looks anxious. Gwaine just looks annoyed, which means he’s also feeling anxious but hiding it better. Leon is inspecting Arthur’s swords and ignoring Gwaine’s violent gestures to - do something. 

Arthur is sprawled in his chair, sharpening his sword and looking supremely unbothered by the attention. “Hello, Merlin.”

“Arthur, this a terrible idea,” Merlin drones obediently. “Can I go now?”

“No!” Gwaine snaps, and Merlin sighs in defeat and flops into a chair. 

“Merlin,” Arthur calls. “Do you want some grapes?”

Merlin sits up, immediately more interested. “Are they red ones?”

“Yes.” Arthur puts down his sword for a moment, passing a bunch of grapes across the table. “Here.”

“Could you stop flirting for five minutes?” Gwaine says tightly

Arthur gives him a withering look. “Gwaine, they’re just grapes.”

Merlin pops one in his mouth. “Yeah. Gwaine. They’re just grapes.”.

Gwaine glares at them both. “I give up. Arthur, you cannot fight Caerleon tomorrow. One of us can fight in your place.”

“It would be an honour,” Percival says seriously. 

Arthur softens a little at that. “I appreciate your loyalty, both of you, but it has to be me. And it has to be Caerleon. This is the only way for me to beat him, and beat him in a fight that’s fair and honourable. One that gives him a chance to retain some pride.”

“But Caerleon isn’t fair and honourable,” Percival points out. “I don’t believe he won’t have some trick up his sleeve. You are the King, Sire, if you are harmed - “

“What kind of king would I be if I wouldn’t risk my life for my people?” Arthur says gently. “This is my decision and mine alone.”

“We will be there to support you, Sire,” Agravaine agrees, entering the tent. Merlin can feel his hackles rising at just the sight of him. “I have the fullest confidence in you tomorrow.”

Arthur nods his head. “Thank you, Uncle. Thank you all of you. You are true friends and I do appreciate your counsel. Now, I think it’s time we all got some rest.”

Gwaine grumbles about it, but claps Arthur on the shoulder before he leaves. Leon waits until the others have gone, hanging back.

“Good luck, Arthur,” Leon says simply. 

Arthur smiles at him. “Thank you, Leon.”

Leon smiles back, and then it’s just Merlin and Arthur.

Merlin often sleeps in Arthur’s tent during campaigns, tonight being no exception. He wanders over to his palette beside Arthur’s bed, covered in furs. “Did you see Caerleon’s face? I can’t wait for you to beat him tomorrow.”

“I haven’t even fought him yet,” Arthur chides, but his tone is fond. “Thank you, Merlin. For your counsel last night.”

Merlin shrugs, pulling off his boots. “You would have come to the same solution on your own. I just sped things up. You’re not cruel, Arthur. You never seek to humiliate your enemies in that way.”

“If I’d killed Caerleon there would have been war.” Arthur climbs up onto his bed. “My rash thinking would have put Camelot at great risk.”

“It wasn’t rash thinking,” Merlin counters softly. Arthur is so hard on himself. “You were unsure what to do about a huge decision. And even if, hypothetically, you had killed Caerleon, I know you would have righted the mistake.”

“Such faith in me,” Arthur murmurs, and blows out the last candle.

-

Merlin is jolted awake that night.

He sits upright, heart thumping in his chest. “Hello?”

Nobody responds which, in hindsight, is probably a blessing, as Merlin would have wet himself if someone had actually answered back. It’s pitch black and they’re alone in a tent in the middle of the woods. Merlin will pass on the disembodied voices, thanks.

Still, something woke him. Merlin blinks blearily, hairs on the back of his neck standing up. Arthur rolls over above him. He’s always been a light sleeper, so Merlin isn’t surprised when he murmurs a sleepy, “Merlin?”

“Did you hear that?” Merlin whispers.

“No.”

“Oh. I thought I heard something.”

Arthur yawns. “It was probably the wind.”

“Right,” says Merlin, who does not believe for a second that it was the wind. 

Arthur reaches over the side of the bed and runs the tips of his fingers through Merlin’s hair. “Come up here, if you want.”

Merlin has never moved quicker in his life. He dives under Arthur’s furs, snuggling into them. He can just make Arthur out; they’re curled towards each other, but not quite touching. The furs are warm from Arthur’s body.

Arthur reaches out and ruffles Merlin’s hair clumsily. “Go to sleep, Merlin.”

“It didn’t sound like the wind,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur drops his hand from Merlin’s hair. It settles on Merlin’s hip, rubbing gentle circles over the jut of bone there. It’s both comforting and intoxicating, and Merlin can feel his eyes slipping shut.

“ ‘s okay,” Arthur reassures him. “I have a dagger under my pillow.”

“Good,” Merlin mutters, fists a hand in Arthur’s shirt, and falls back to sleep. 

-

Caerleon’s battlefield is really dramatic. It’s in the bowl of a valley, and they make everyone stand on top of the cliffs and watch what is going on below. Merlin doesn’t see the point of that really. No one can actually see what’s happening properly, and if someone starts bleeding to death, they’ll have to wait for a physician to scramble down the rock face.

From this high up, Merlin can see Caerleon say something to Arthur as they take their positions. He wishes he could hear what it was. Arthur says something back that has Caerleon turning purple, which makes Merlin really wish he could hear what’s going on below. 

Gwaine is stood next to Merlin, Leon on his other side. Agravaine is stood beside Leon, and Merlin keeps shooting suspicious glances his way, until Gwaine elbows him in the ribs. “They’ll be starting soon.”

Sure enough, the horn soon blows to signal the beginning of the fight. There’s a collective intake of breath as Caerleon deals the first blow. Merlin flinches, but Caerleon is angry and over swings. Arthur blocks it easily.

The fight is vicious, fast paced. It’s clear Arthur is the superior swordsman, but Caerleon is older, and angrier. It’s equally clear that Caerleon is not holding back. The fight will be decided on who yields first, but Merlin is starting to worry that Caerleon is determined for this to end in someone’s death.

There’s a heart stopping moment when Caerleon fumbles with his sword. He loses his grip on the hilt, only to bring it up and slam it into Arthur’s jaw. Arthur stumbles back, and Merlin clasps a hand over his mouth.

“He’s okay, Merlin,” Leon says urgently, though his face is white. “Look, he’s dealt a hard blow in return.”

Merlin can’t answer, shoves a hand to his lips and bites down furiously on his thumbnail.

It feels as though it goes on for hours, but Caerleon eventually begins to tire. Arthur almost knocks Caerleon’s blade out of his hand, and Caerleon yells. He manages to keep his grip, but isn’t so lucky the next time.

Arthur delivers a rapid set of blows, before finally slamming Caerleon’s sword aside. It clatters to the floor. At the same time, Arthur sweeps his legs out beneath him. Caerleon collapses to the floor, and the entire valley falls silent.

Arthur lifts his sword. He stabs it into the ground, a foot from Caerleon’s head, and the valley errupts into cheers. 

Merlin is swept into a two sided hug, squashed between Leon and Gwaine. “He did it!” Gwaine is yelling directly into Merlin’s ear. “He did it, Merlin!”

Merlin feels completely numb, doesn’t even register when Percival picks him up at one point and shakes him like a puppy. He can’t stop staring at the battlefield below. Arthur is gazing up at the crowd, squinting against the sun. His armour glints in the light, and he takes off his helmet, tossing it aside.

Arthur’s eyes track over his cheering knights, until they fall on Merlin. He beams at him, a wide, open smile. Arthur turns, his back to Caerleon as he lifts his hand in a wave. 

As soon as Arthur’s back is turned, Caerleon sits up, grabs his fallen sword, and slashes at the back of Arthur’s leg.

Everything happens very slowly after that. 

It’s like Merlin is underwater, everything muted and distant and very far away. 

Arthur stumbles. That’s not immediately worrying; Caerleon didn’t have a lot of room to swing, and he’s in armour. The sword can’t have cut too deep. It would have hurt, even more so with the shock of it, but it wouldn’t have stopped Arthur. Shouldn’t have stopped Arthur.

Arthur takes a step forward, then another. And then he falls to the ground and doesn’t get back up again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> someone left a comment on this fic a few chapters back that just said: I’M STRESSED  
Big mood  
😎


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I meant to post this yesterday, but i had really bad period pain and like three hours of sleep. so you're getting it today instead
> 
> shout out to all the people commenting 'I'M STRESSED' on the last chapter about Arthur, bitch me too the fuck

Merlin isn’t sure how he gets to Arthur so quickly, whether it’s magic, or speed, or whether he just throws himself off the side of the cliff face.

It might be a combination of all three. Merlin can’t remember any of it, finds himself at the bottom of the valley within seconds. He barges past Caerleon, barely noticing the pain as their shoulders collide.

Shock is an odd thing; it’s also at this point Merlin realises he is screaming Arthur’s name.

Merlin falls to his knees beside Arthur’s still body, hands trembling as they feel for a pulse. There is one, thankfully, but Arthur’s eyes are shut, his skin pale and clammy. He doesn’t move when Merlin grips his chain mail and shakes him. “Arthur! Arthur!”

Arthur only moans in response. Merlin scrabbles down Arthur’s body, fumbling for the cut in Arthur’s armour. The blade has caught Arthur’s lower thigh, but the wound is shallow, barely bleeding.

Merlin whirls on Caerleon, fury crackling through his veins. “What did you do to him?”

“Like I’m going to tell you,” Caerleon scoffs, which is when Merlin’s fist collides with his face.

Ignoring Caerleon’s groans and how he’s sprawled on the floor, Merlin yanks the sword from his hand. He inspects the blade, eyes narrowing.

“What did you do?” Merlin demands. “What did you use to poison the sword?”

Caerleon has a hand clasped over his nose, fingers wet with blood. “You’re going to pay for this, boy.”

“Tell me the poison you used.” Merlin lifts the sword in his hand threateningly. “Tell me, or I’ll ram this sword - “

“Merlin!” Leon yells, stumbling to a halt, and closely followed by Annis. “What is it? What’s wrong with the King?”

“Caerleon poisoned him,” Merlin hisses, and Queen Annis gasps.

Caerleon climbs to his feet, eyeing Merlin warily. “Clearly the boy is deranged.”

“Oh, really?” Merlin snaps, and Leon grasps his arm to stop him lunging at Caerleon’s throat. “Why is he unconscious then? Since when did a wound from a sword knock you straight out? Just _look_ at him.”

Arthur looks awful, clammy and pale. His eyes are tightly shut, but his breath is coming out in shallow pants.

“Does that look like a typical battle wound?” Merlin is shaking now, Leon’s grip tight. “There’s barely any blood.”

Gwaine and Percival have arrived by now. Between them, they carefully lift Arthur, slinging his arms over their shoulders. Arthur appears to have fallen unconscious by now, completely lax in their grip.

“Take the King back to camp,” Leon orders. He turns to Caerleon and Annis, eyes blazing. “If he dies, you will have committed an act of war.”

Annis inhales sharply, but Leon ignores her and continues. “And even if he survives, you’ve committed an act of cowardice.” Leon gestures to the crowd above. “In front of not only our kingdom, but yours.”

There are a sea of shocked faces above. Many of Caerleon’s men look troubled. Merlin’s eye catches on Agravaine’s lone figure, clad in black, like a crow overseeing a corpse below.

Leon makes to leave, but Merlin stops him. “Wait. Take the sword as well. Carefully, I’ll need to inspect it for any traces of the poison.”

Leon doesn’t have to speak, the knights nearest to Merlin already nodding and carefully wrapping the sword in a cloth.

Gwaine and Percival hurry past him, but Merlin lingers, stepping closer to Caerleon. He leans in closely, so only they can hear.

“If he dies,” Merlin says softly. “Then you’ll share his fate.”

He doesn’t wait to see Caerleon’s expression, turns on his heel and runs to catch up with the others.

The moment they arrive back at camp, Merlin orders them to Arthur’s tent. Gwaine and Percival carry Arthur through obligingly, Gwaine’s forehead damp with sweat, Percival’s eyes wide and frightened.

Merlin realises they’ll have to lay Arthur on the bed, the bed they slept in together last night, the bed he woke up in this morning, wrapped in Arthur’s arms. His reaction to that thought is so visceral he has to clamp down on his emotions, slam that door in his mind shut.

“On the bed,” Merlin orders, voice only just hitching. “Lay him on the bed. We need to get his armour off. And I need a cloth and bowl of warm water.”

Percival rushes to gather the supplies, whilst Gwaine makes a start on Arthur’s armour. Merlin rolls his sleeves up, which takes longer than it should but he can’t force his fingers to work, and strides over to where Arthur is laying.

He places a palm on Arthur’s forehead, holding back blond hair damp with sweat. Arthur whimpers beneath him, tossing his head. He’s definitely not conscious, but there are shivers wracking through his body.

Gwaine throws Arthur’s chain mail to the floor, where it lands with a clatter. “I’ve never seen poison work like this before.”

“Me neither.”

“I saw him cut Arthur, the wound looked shallow. How could that much poison have entered such a small cut? And so quickly?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin answers shortly. Arthur is wearing a loose tunic beneath his armour, which Merlin unlaces deftly. He presses his hand to Arthur’s chest, breathing out slowly when he feels a steady heart beat under his palm.

Percival re-enters the tent, carrying the bowl of water and a cloth. Merlin dips it into the water, resting a hand on Arthur’s cheek and gently dabbing his forehead with the other. Arthur flinches, and he convulses beneath Merlin’s administrations.

Gwaine gasps, but Merlin keeps still, one hand steady as it cups Arthur’s jaw. “Hush, Arthur.”

The tent flap flies open again. “Where is my nephew?” a voice calls, and Merlin is suddenly a light with incandescent rage.

Everything he’d been suppressing floods his chest, the emotions so strong that for a minute he cannot speak. He looks to whoever is closest, which turns out to Percival, and grits out, “Get him out of here.”

He doesn’t know what Percival sees in his expression, but he climbs to his feet and ushers Agravaine back out the tent. Gwaine has finished stripping Arthur of his armour and is now hovering nervously by the bed. “Do you know what poison it is?”

“No.”

“Do you think it’s magic?”

“Yes.”

“Can magic do that - “

“Gwaine, I need to concentrate!” Merlin snaps.

“Sorry,” Gwaine mumbles. He falls silent as Merlin runs his hands over Arthur, checks his pulse, his pupils, his temperature. Arthur is growing paler by the second, and bursts of panic keep threatening to break through Merlin’s defences.

He finds himself talking, the words heavy and stumbling off his tongue. “Hush, Arthur. You’re okay, I know it hurts, but you’re okay.” Arthur groans, and Merlin bites his lip hard enough to draw blood. “I know, sweetheart. Just hold on.”

Leon stumbles into the tent. He falls to a crouch beside the bed, jaw dropping as he takes in the sigh of Arthur’s wan, writhing body. “Is it poison?”

Merlin drops the cloth in the water bowl and shoves it at Gwaine. “Gwaine, carry on with this. I think it must be poison, but not one I’ve come across before. I need - I need space to work.”

Leon is staring at Arthur with wide eyes. Every time Arthur’s chest rises, he inhales, as if reassuring himself Arthur is still breathing. “Can you save him?”

Merlin swallows. He drops his hand from Arthur’s cheek, standing up and grabbing the bag of supplies he always takes on expeditions like this. “I - I’m - I - “

“Merlin, can you save him?”

Merlin rummages through his satchel. “I have some antidotes that I could try - “

“Merlin!” Leon interrupts urgently. “Can you save him with magic?”

Merlin freezes in place. Gwaine drops the bowl of water. It spills all over the floor, but neither Leon or Merlin move.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Merlin says very carefully.

Leon shakes his head, shoving a hand through his tight curls. He stares at Merlin for a long moment, before his gaze turns to Arthur. Merlin’s thighs are trembling with the effort of staying rooted in place. Leon claps Arthur’s hand once with a desperate grip, before getting to his feet.

He sets his shoulders, arranging his cloak around him. “I have to go back out there. The knights are panicking, someone needs to take charge. Someone needs to - to prepare for war, if it comes to that.”

Leon takes one last, miserable look at Arthur.

“Please, Merlin,” he begs quietly, “Save him,” and then he’s gone.

“What,” Gwaine begins slowly, “the fuck.”

Merlin drops his satchel to the floor. Gwaine continues, “How does - did you save his life, too?”

Merlin scrubs a tired hand over his face. There’s no time to process any of this. “The only life I need to save right now is Arthur’s. Get out of the way.”

“But did you just hear Leon - “

Merlin ignores him, shouldering past Gwaine and crouching down at Arthur’s side. His magic is going haywire, so it’s not a surprise when the tent flaps draw tightly close of their own accord.

“What can I do to help?” Gwaine asks seriously.

Merlin shakes his head. “Nothing, yet. Just - just let me concentrate.”

Arthur’s breaths are shallow now. Fear strikes at Merlin’s heart, threatens to engulf him. Gwaine was right; the cut was minimal, no normal poison would have caused such a reaction. Not such a fast acting one. Merlin is almost certain that sorcerery must have been involved, and an involuntary whine escapes his throat.

“Merlin - “

Merlin snatches Arthur’s hand. He squeezes it tightly, leaning over Arthur and fisting his other hand in Arthur’s collar. There are no words, his throat suddenly dry, so Merlin closes his eyes and calls on his magic with everything he has.

Later, he’ll recall how easily the magic flowed out of him, natural, instinctive, like the moon calling to the tides. He’s never felt as attuned to his magic as he does in that moment; he and his magic are one, and Arthur is everything else, and Arthur is never going to die, could never die, not whilst Merlin has a chance to save him.

In that moment, Merlin is earth and sky and air, the man he loves beneath him, the kingdom they’ll build all around, and Arthur finally breathes.

When it’s over, every inch of him feels raw, sensitive. The atmosphere settles around him, the balance moving into place. Merlin sits back on his haunches, unable to remember when he moved to crouch over Arthur, at what point he straddled his hips. He dares to open his eyes, but can’t quite speak yet.

“Merlin,” Gwaine says quietly. “Are you okay?”

Merlin doesn’t answer. He is transfixed on the man below. Arthur’s wrinkled forehead has smoothed. Already, the paleness of his skin is leaving. His breathing pattern slips into something more natural.

Aftershocks of magic skitter down his spine. Merlin twitches and Arthur’s stirs, lashes fluttering open. “Merlin?”

Arthur blinks, shaking his head dazedly. His lips part, wonder painting his face as he looks up at Merlin. “Merlin, _your_ _eyes_.”

Merlin kisses him.

In that moment, Merlin is helpless to do anything but, unable to do anything but lean down and press their mouths together. It’s chaste, at first, a little awkward because Arthur is clearly startled. Merlin is beginning to think this was a terrible idea and he’s obviously a terrible kisser, but that’s when Arthur finally kisses back and _oh_.

Arthur’s mouth is soft and slick, parting under his in a way that makes Merlin melt. Strong hands cup Merlin’s face, pulling him closer, as though Arthur is determined to eliminate all the space between them. He tilts Merlin’s jaw, changing the angle, and Merlin can’t stop the noise he makes at the sensation.

He can feel Arthur grin at that, at the noises he caused Merlin to make, and it really shouldn’t be hot, but it really is. Merlin can’t help the way his hips stutter, even with furs between them, and it’s Arthur's turn to moan.

They break apart, both taking ragged breaths. Arthur is staring at Merlin like he set the stars in place. His lips are swollen and apple red, his eyes almost all pupils. Arthur’s hands are a brand on Merlin’s hips, fingers digging into the bone there. Merlin has a wild thought that he hopes he looks that riled; that marked, that taken apart.

Someone clears their throat. “Well, this is really touching, lads, but - “

“Gwaine!” Merlin snaps. Arthur groans and flops backwards on the bed, throwing an arm over his eyes. “Can you not see we’re in the middle of something here?”

Gwaine sighs. “Yes, I can see it, would really have preferred not to see it actually. But given that I can’t unsee it - “

Merlin’s momentary indignation is dulled by the sudden and acute realisation he is sat in Arthur’s lap. The embarrassment was slow to kick in whilst he was still reeling from Arthur’s mouth, but now it hits him with full force.

“Why didn’t you leave?” Merlin hisses, certain his head is the colour of a ripe tomato.

“I couldn’t get out of the tent,” Gwaine shrugs.

“Why couldn’t you get out of the tent?” Arthur asks, voice muffled from where his face is still covered. “We would all like you to get out of the tent.”

“Because Merlin’s magic locked us in here, so no one would come in midway through him resuscitating you,” Gwaine explains in a bored tone. “Though clearly there are two types of resuscitation - “

Arthur sits up, Merlin scooting backwards to give him some space. “Get out, Gwaine.”

“Well, I know where I’m not wanted.” Merlin waves a hand pointedly, and Gwaine snorts and wanders over to the newly unlocked tent entrance. “Nice to see you looking less like a corpse, Arthur.”

“You too,” Arthur returns snippily, but he and Gwaine share a smile. Merlin climbs off the bed and Gwaine clasps his shoulder as he passes.

“Glad to see you two are finally sorting things out,” Gwaine says lowly, and Merlin shoves him out of the door.

Then it’s just him and Arthur. Merlin feels overwhelmingly shy all of a sudden, which really is ridiculous, given he just had Arthur’s tongue in his mouth. He ducks his head, gathering all the supplies he didn’t need and putting them back in his bag.

“Merlin.” Arthur has his legs pulled to his chest, chin resting on his knees. He’s tracking Merlin’s movements. “Did you save my life again?”

Merlin shrugs. “Can’t seem to kick the habit.”

“Thank you,” Arthur says quietly. “Merlin, your eyes - “

“How are you feeling now?” Merlin asks, dumping his satchel on a chair. “What do you remember?”

Arthur frowns. “I remember the fight. I won, didn’t I? And then I turned to wave, I was looking for you in the crowd.” Arthur trails off thoughtfully, completely oblivious to the way Merlin’s heartbeat has sped up at his words. “But something cut me from behind. And I remember a lot of pain, but then nothing.”

Merlin’s head is starting to pound. He pours himself a cup of water, taking a deep sip. “Caerleon cut you with his sword when your back was turned. I think he poisoned the blade.”

Merlin finishes his cup, but the moment he takes a step, he stumbles, legs giving out beneath him.

“Merlin!” Arthur calls in alarm.

“I’m fine,” Merlin says hurriedly. “I just used a lot of magic to heal you. It feels like someone is banging a drum in my head.”

“Get over here,” Arthur orders fondly, lifting the furs.

Merlin is too exhausted to be embarrassed now, so he just stumbles over to the bed. Every step seems to weigh him down further. He supposes he’s been running on adrenaline since the battle, literally hasn’t had a moment to stand still. No wonder he’s as wobbly as a newborn kitten.

Merlin collapses face first onto the furs. Arthur huffs in amusement, prodding and shoving at Merlin until he finally wiggles under the covers. “You’re a terrible person,” Merlin complains as Arthur wrestles him out of his jacket. “Just let me sleep.”

“Just let me sleep,” Arthur mimics, then does a double take. “Merlin, if you still have your boots on in our bed, I am never kissing you again.”

Merlin throws his boots to the floor. “Who said I want you to kiss me again?”

“Fine,” Arthur says dismissively. He’s apparently done with manoeuvring Merlin now. Merlin is laid on his side, he and Arthur facing each other, legs tangled together. Merlin is so sleepy that he can’t keep his eyes open. “I was going to kiss you goodnight, but you don’t deserve it with that attitude.”

Merlin peers at him through slitted eyes. “I definitely do deserve it, I saved your life.”

“Hm.” Arthur arches an eyebrow. “A good argument.”

Merlin tilts his chin up, but Arthur just leans over and brushes a kiss against Merlin’s temple. Merlin frowns when Arthur pulls back, but Arthur just shrugs. “You’re too tired to agree to anything more.”

“A good argument,” Merlin parrots. Arthur threads a hand through Merlin’s hair, thumb catching on the curve of his ear and stroking gently.

“Is that normal?” Arthur asks quietly.

Merlin shuts his eyes. “I was just taking the piss, most people don’t wear boots in bed.”

Arthur doesn’t even cuff the side of his head, which is how Merlin knows he’s actually worried. “That’s not what I meant. I meant you being so exhausted after using magic.”

Merlin presses his cheek into Arthur’s palm, eyes fluttering open for this particular conversation. “Normally I’m fine. It’s just when I use really big magic.”

“Saving someone’s life is really big magic?” Arthur guesses, and Merlin yawns, nodding his head in agreement. “What about little magic?”

“That doesn’t make me feel like there’s a parade going on in my head,” Merlin offers, and Arthur huffs in amusement. “Most people who use magic learn through spells. But I - I don’t need spells. I can just do it. But for big magic, I think that’s even more exhausting.”

Arthur hums. He drops his hand to Merlin’s hips. Merlin draws closer, curling a hand in the front of Arthur’s shirt. “Do I need to wake you up? Did you need something to eat?”

“It’s not a concussion,” Merlin sighs. “I just need to sleep. And you need to sleep, too. You were poisoned.”

At that, he props himself up on his elbow, gazing down at Arthur. “I should be the one interrogating you, now I think of it. Do you feel dizzy? Nauseous?”

“No.” Arthur shakes his head. “Whatever you did, it worked.”

“Okay.” Merlin snuggles back down, pulling the furs over him. “If you do, just. Wake me up and tell me.”

“Okay.”

“Right away,” Merlin mumbles, and he can feel Arthur shake with laughter underneath him. “Wake me up away. Right away.”

“I will,” Arthur promises, in the tone of someone who absolutely won’t, but Merlin has fallen asleep before he can properly tell him off.

Saving someone’s life from an unknown and likely magical poison, really takes it out of you. It doesn’t help that Merlin’s life has, frankly, been a shit show recently, and he hasn’t slept properly in weeks. He’s always worrying Agravaine will kill Arthur, or Caerleon will kill Arthur, or that Morgana will kill Leon and Percival, and then Arthur, and then him.

Merlin’s unconsciousness is apparently taking full advantage of being able to nap with Arthur right in his sights, and Merlin is out cold for the next few hours.

The sounds of murmuring voices drift into his consciousness a long time later. Merlin is in that lovely hazy place where you’re still half asleep, where everything is warm and golden and slow, like drizzled honey.

“I’m glad to see you’re feeling better. You gave us quite a scare.”

“Sorry. To be fair, it wasn’t my choice to be poisoned.”

That’s Leon’s voice, Merlin realises distantly. Leon and Arthur are talking.

His sleepy brain is then distracted by the fact he’s in a different position to the one he fell asleep in. Arthur is sitting up slightly, his back propped against the headrest. Merlin is sprawled over his chest, arm slung over Arthur’s waist and his head resting over Arthur’s heart.

There are gentle fingers carding through his hair.

Arthur and Leon continue their conversation. Leon’s tone is teasing. “And I see there are other developments we need to discuss.”

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.”

“Right. That’s not your manservant cuddled up to you like a sleepy puppy, then?”

“Shut up, Leon.”

Leon snorts. “That tone didn’t work on me when you were five and trying to convince me to sneak you into squire training. It’s not going to work now.”

The hand in his hair continues its steady rhythm. “Worth a try.”

“Arthur, I’m happy for you.”

Arthur's tone is fond. “Thank you, old friend.”

Leon hesitates. “Arthur, I have something to ask you.”

“What is it, Leon? I promise you, I’ll take it easy when we get back to Camelot.”

“We both know you won’t,” Leon mutters. “And that’s not what I wanted to ask. Arthur, did - did Merlin save your life?”

The grip on his hair tightens imperceptibly. “You know he did. Merlin is a skilled physician. I’m lucky he studied under Gaius for all these years.”

“Arthur. Did Merlin save your life using other means?”

Merlin is wide awake now. He doesn’t dare move, keeps his breathing slow and steady, as not to give him away.

“What will you say if he did?” Arthur answers finally. He is very still beneath Merlin.

“Arthur.” There’s the sound of someone moving. Leon must have reached to touch Arthur - his arm maybe? His hand? “Arthur, we’ve spoken on this matter. The druids saved my life with magic, I wouldn’t be here without them. You and I have spent hours recently discussing your - “

“We’re not talking about that,” Arthur cuts in quickly. “We’re talking about - “

“Merlin,” Leon finishes gently. “Who is just a boy. Who loves you and who I can’t believe would ever hurt you.”

“He wouldn’t ever hurt me.”

“I know. He’s saved your life on more than one occasion. And on a practical level, he’s had more than enough opportunity to do you harm. If he - if he truly wanted to use his powers for evil, wouldn’t he have done it by now?”

Arthur exhales slowly. “How did you work it out?”

“I don’t know. Merlin has always been different. I did wonder when you pulled me aside after Percival and I were taken by Morgana, to discuss that other matter. And after that - things began to fall into place. It was only today, though, that I knew for certain.”

“Because of the poison?”

“Arthur, I thought you were going to die,” Leon admits hoarsely. “You were so pale. You just collapsed, even though we were all watching and Caerleon barely scratched you. I’ve never seen poison act that quickly. There was no way Merlin was going to save you with a satchel of bandages and herbs.”

“He saved my life.” Arthur pauses. “Not just today, so many times before that. Camelot owes him a hundred times over.”

“How did you find out?”

“Figured it out eventually. Too many odd coincidences. It’s a bit of a long story.”

“Perhaps one day you can tell me.”

“I think Merlin would like that.”

There’s the sound of a chair scraping across the floor. “I’ll leave you to rest, Arthur. Both of you.”

“Good night, Leon.”

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Sire.”

The tent flaps swishes open then closed. Arthur hums quietly, before lowering his head to drop a kiss to Merlin’s hair. “I know you’re awake.”

“Am not,” Merlin mumbles, and Arthur laughs. He moves down the bed so he’s no longer sitting up, Merlin curling into him. He buries his face into the crook of Arthur’s neck, Arthur slipping strong arms around his waist. “I thought I’d let you and Leon talk it out.”

“I wouldn’t have let him hurt you.”

“I know. Nice he wasn’t planning to, though.”

Arthur runs his palm up and down Merlin’s spine. It’s soothing. “Are you going to tell Percival next?”

Merlin jolts fully awake. “What?”

“Leon and Gwaine know,” Arthur mumbles. Seems like Merlin isn’t the only sleepy one. It’s still dark outside the tent, the candles flickering off the fabric. “Did you want to tell Percival next?”

Merlin frowns. “I thought the point was I didn’t tell anyone. Magic is still outlawed, people only keep finding out because you’re dropping like flies. Near to death flies. I can’t tell Percival.”

When Arthur doesn’t answer, Merlin cranes his head in exasperation. “Arthur, are you listening to me?”

Arthur is not listening to him. Arthur has fallen asleep, mouth lax and his hand still settled at the base of Merlin’s spine.

“Prat,” Merlin mutters, and does the same.

-

Merlin fusses over Arthur that morning, checking his temperature, turning his face from side to side to test his reactions. He isn’t doing it just to get his hands on Arthur, though that’s a nice bonus. He genuinely is worried, frightened that the poison may not be truly gone.

Arthur bears it well, has Merlin stand between his legs, is quiet under his administrations. After a while, he links his fingers through Merlin’s belt loops, pliant in Merlin’s hands.

They are comfortable around each other this morning, their spaces blurring into one. Merlin thinks they should be a bit more awkward, more fumbling, green in this aspect of their relationship as they are. Merlin thinks they will be when they return to Camelot, when there is space to think and learn each properly.

But right now, they are both reeling from Arthur’s brush with death. There is no room for self consciousness, no time for the human follies of doubt and awkwardness and second guessing.

Merlin finally sighs. “You appear to be in perfect health.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Try not to sound so disappointed.”

“Well, I was hoping it’d finish you off.”

“Can you believe Caerleon tried to poison me?” Arthur demands. “What an absolute coward. In front of his people, too! As if they don’t already hate him.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “Yes. It was very public, wasn’t it? He must have been confident his plan would work.”

Arthur frowns up at him as Merlin plays with his collar. “Why do you say it like that?”

“Killing you is an act of war,” Merlin says bluntly, because it’s the only way to deal with the knot in his stomach. “But killing you also means Camelot is without their King, so we’d be in no shape to start a war. Not right away, anyway. He was certain you’d die and throw Camelot into disarray.”

Or he was certain that Arthur would die and there would be no consequence. That whoever ascended Camelot’s throne wouldn’t retaliate. Wouldn’t hold a grudge about Caerleon, would perhaps even be pleased that Arthur was no longer the King.

“The knights will be here shortly,” Arthur announces, interrupting Merlin’s bitter thoughts. “We can go over it then, decide what we intend to do about Caerleon.”

Merlin grabs Arthur’s hand and pulls him to his feet. “Come on then. I’m hungry.”

Arthur stands, but doesn’t move away. Their hands are still linked, and Merlin’s breath hitches as Arthur sways into his space. His lips are gentle when they meet Merlin’s, a soft good morning.

Arthur keeps it chaste, perhaps wary of the noises from outside their tent of the camp waking and preparing for the day. Still, he keeps a grip on Merlin’s hand as he leads them to the table. Merlin takes a seat beside Arthur, Arthur’s hand leaving his to reach for a knife.

That’s another thing they’ll have to address when they get back to Camelot, what this is. Merlin thinks he knows, but communication with them is so dire at times, Merlin will probably need it written down three times and then read aloud, just to be clear.

Still, there’s time. For now, Merlin is content to still in comfortable silence. He’s vaguely contemplating leaning over and pressing a kiss to Arthur’s jawline, lethal or not, when there’s a crash from outside the tent.

Arthur and Merlin exchange a look as, predictably, Gwaine comes barging through the opening five seconds later. Gwaine looks at them suspiciously, before turning and bellowing, “They have clothes on!”

“I’m going to kill him,” Arthur says seriously. “Just planning to announce that to the entire campsite were you, Gwaine? Just to your one hundred closest friends?”

Gwaine throws himself down in a chair, snagging a piece of bacon. “We had to make sure. No one could decide who should go first, but I drew the short straw - “

“You volunteered,” Leon corrects, walking in after him. “Though I did agree we should exercise caution.”

Gwaine perks up at that. “Which is also a good attitude to apply to - “

“You’re both banned from this tent,” Arthur announces flatly.

“Is Merlin banned from the tent?” Leon asks innocently.

“Merlin isn’t making idiotic comments at present, so no.”

“Thanks,” Merlin says automatically. “Wait, what do you mean _at present_?”

“Am I banned from the tent?” Percival asks, wandering in.

“You’re not banned, you've been promoted to my favourite knight,” Merlin advises him. Percival looks pleased at this and steals Gwaine’s bacon from his hand as he sits down. “For not making shitty comments about things that don’t involve you.”

“Glad to hear it,” Percival says calmly. “Gwaine, give that back - “

“Where’s Agravaine?” Arthur asks, frowning. “I presume you’re here to talk strategies, not just insult me and fall upon my food like a pack of wild dogs.”

“That’s just a bonus.” Gwaine licks bacon grease off his fingers. “I don’t know where Agravaine is. I’m sure he’ll be along shortly. We told him where we were going.”

He smirks at Merlin as he says this. Merlin clears his throat. “Perhaps we should start. We can always fill Agravaine in when he arrives.”

“We don’t know how much time we have,” Leon chimes in.

Arthur nods. “You’re right. I’ll update my Uncle when he arrives. As you all know, I was poisoned yesterday by Caerleon. There was poison on the sword he used. I’m only here now because Merlin was able to save my life.”

Merlin flushes at the unexpected praise, looking down at his hands and grinning. Arthur continues, elbowing him gently. “Merlin, did you want to explain more about the poison? What do you know so far?”

Merlin sits up a little straighter. “Well, it’s not any poison I’ve come across before. Poisoning blades is actually quite difficult. You’d have to use a lot of poison and there’s no guarantee it’d all go into the cut. That’s why poisoned arrows are far more effective.”

Arthur is slicing an apple, fingers deft with the sharp knife. He offers a piece to Merlin, who takes it without thinking, popping it into his mouth and biting down on the sweet taste.

Leon drums his fingers against the table. “And it wasn’t a deep cut.”

Merlin nods. “Exactly. Plus, Caerleon was carrying it around and using it during the fight. What if he’d gotten some of the poison on himself? Did he spread the poison on the entire blade?”

“You think sorcerery was involved?” Percival guesses.

Merlin swallows. “I think there’s too many coincidences for it not to be. Whether the poison was enchanted, or the blade itself.”

“Either way, he intended to kill you,” Gwaine says angrily. “And was too much of a coward to fight you fairly. He had to cheat and he didn’t care who he did it in front of.”

“What are you going to do?” Leon asks seriously, but they’re interrupted. (Again. It’s getting a bit tedious. Merlin is starting to curse this wretched tent.)

The visitor this time is a panting messenger boy, who takes a good half a minute to catch his breath. “Your highness, I have a message from Caerleon.”

“Thomas, sit down before you collapse,” Arthur says, not unkindly. Merlin is no longer surprised but pleasantly reminded Arthur knows all his men’s names, from generals to apparently random messenger boys. “What’s the message?”

Thomas slumps into a chair gratefully. “The ruler of Caerleon wishes to meet with you urgently.”

There’s a flurry of movement after that, all the knights climbing to their feet. “We leave in five minutes,” Arthur orders. “Make sure you’re armed. Leon, find my Uncle and tell him.”

Merlin has already gathered Arthur’s armour, helping Arthur into it with shaking fingers. “What do you think they want?”

Arthur looks grim. “I don’t know.”

“I told Caerleon I’d kill him, if you died,” Merlin blurts.

“Merlin!”

“I would have!” Merlin protests. “If you don’t think anyone of us wouldn’t go to war for you - “

Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand, bringing his knuckles to his mouth and brushing his lips against them. Merlin is so shocked that he’s stunned into silence.

“I know that, Merlin, I do,” Arthur insists. “It doesn’t mean I’d rather avoid that completely if possible.”

“What if it’s not possible?” Merlin counters. “Arthur, if I see Caerleon, I’m going to take that poison sword and - “

“I’m never taking you anywhere again,” Arthur sighs, and propels Merlin from the tent.

It’s a grave procession that makes its way to the no man’s land between Arthur’s camp and Caerleon’s castle. Merlin is so furious he can’t stand still. He’s decided that if there will be a war, he might as well punch Caerleon for a second time when he sees him today.

Agravaine has caught up with Arthur now, their heads bent together, one light, one dark. Agravaine had marvelled at Arthur’s recovery, proclaiming it a fortuitous sign from the gods. He’d ran his hands all over Arthur’s body, and Merlin had gritted his teeth so hard he’s surprised they didn’t crack.

The really awful thing is, Arthur is isn’t stupid. Merlin is sure he has his suspicions about Agravaine, about there being a traitor amongst them. He might have confronted Agravaine already and just not told Merlin. Arthur has always been a keen tactician, and is often five steps ahead at any given time. He would have given some thought to who could have betrayed them. Agravaine, for several reasons, is an obvious candidate, with his connection to the throne being the most obvious.

Perhaps he doesn’t have enough evidence. It’s not like Merlin does, not really. Or perhaps Arthur just wants to pretend in moments like this. Will allow Agravaine to clasp his arm like an affectionate Uncle, because he’s the only family Arthur has left.

That’s horribly sad, and it leaves Merlin with misery to accompany his anger. He knows it won’t stop Arthur from doing what he needs to, when the time comes. But he can’t fault Arthur for wanting to pretend, pretend someone from his family cares for him, if only for a short while.

But there’s more Agravaine related problems to consider. Whilst Merlin was never on his radar before, two times now Merlin has felt eyes in his direction. Agravaine is starting to pay closer attention to the people surrounding Arthur. And Merlin is always in Arthur’s orbit.

Good, Merlin thinks angrily. I’ll punch Agravaine in the face too.

Queen Annis is waiting for them in the clearing. She looks effortlessly poised and regal, silver circlet on her head and thick, white furs around her shoulders.

“King Arthur,” she greets them. “I am relieved to see you are much recovered.”

“I am,” Arthur agrees. “Though no thanks to King Caerleon. It is only through the skills of my physician, that I am here at all. Any man would take offence at attempted murder, but Caerleon’s actions were nothing short of cowardly.”

Annis’ face is stony. “I am aware. It is not the usual way of our people.”

“He was given a fair challenge.” Arthur gestures to the men behind him. “I was hoping to avoid unnecessary bloodshed between our kingdoms. Where is Caerleon now? Hiding from his responsibilities again?”

“King Caerleon is dead,” Annis answers bluntly.

Merlin gasps. Arthur’s jaw drops, the knights murmuring uncomfortably behind them.

“King Caerleon is dead,” Arthur repeats finally.

Annis makes a gesture and one of her men steps forward, holding something wrapped in a cloak. Her eyes linger on Merlin for a heartbeat, before taking whatever it is. “It appears your physician was right. The blade was poisoned. Caerleon used the same poison to end his own life, last night.”

Merlin hurries forward, taking the cloak Annis professes. Wrapped inside it, is a small vial, with a scant few droplets of a blue liquid inside. Merlin inspects it cautiously, meeting Arthur’s eyes. “I can test it back in Camelot.”

Arthur nods tersely. “Why would Caerlen do such a thing? Why drink the poison at all?”

Annis sighs, and for the first time, she looks weary. “I imagine he believed he was taking fate into his own hands. Deciding his destiny before anyone decided it for him.”

Annis shakes her head. “I don’t condone his actions against you, Arthur Pendragon, and neither do my people. There was a lot of unrest after he cheated in the challenge. Not to mention your - miraculous recovery. It couldn’t have been a clearer sign.”

“And where do we go from here?” Arthur asks quietly. “I take it you are the new ruler of Caerleon?”

Annis nods. “I am. And I am more than aware we are at your mercy, King Pendragon.”

Arthur crosses his arms, eyes contemplative. “I told Caerleon I didn’t war, and I meant it. I wish he’d wanted that, too. You will sign the peace treaty?”

Merlin can see the way Annis relaxes, just a fraction. “I’ve already signed it.”

Arthur smiles at that, brief, but Merlin was watching. “Caerleon will repair the damages to the villages they raided. And provide those villages with a year’s worth of supplies, as well as compensating the families who lost men. It won’t heal their hearts, but at least they will not suffer even more during this harsh winter.”

Annis inclines her head. “Caerleon agrees to all your terms.” She hesitates, before stepping forward and speaking quietly. “Believe me, I did not know my husband had commanded those actions. I have never liked needless bloodshed. Nor needless stupidity.”

Arthur leans closer. “Nor do I. I am not my father. And you are not Caerleon. If you renege on our treaty, then the consequences will be severe, but I hope that won’t happen. I hope this can be the beginning of a new era of peace between our kingdoms.”

He holds out his hand and Annis takes it, shaking once. Gwaine woops loudly, which breaks the tension. There’s a smattering of laughter from both sides, dissolving into talking and cheering, as Arthur winces apologetically.

Annis’ eyes are soft when she looks at Arthur. “There is something about you, Arthur Pendragon. Something that gives me hope for us all.”

She’s not the only one, Merlin thinks, and surreptitiously wipes at his eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> like i was going to kill arthur, i'm not bbc merlin
> 
> this was such a fun chapter. finally the opportunity to write them being dumb and in love, instead of angst. not that i don't like angst, cause i do given i've written 50k of it lmaoo, it's just nice them being sweet together 
> 
> originally i was going to move this chapter forward more plot wise, but tbh they needed more time just to be sweet together? and develop that a bit more? so that's what i did 
> 
> arthur pendragon out here having more than one brain cell and being king of consent, NICE
> 
> I am currently rewatching season 1 of Merlin, which I haven’t for ages, cause I thought it’d be too cringe, and it was a bit cringe, but actually not that bad. (I have decided I actually do like season 1 😂) anyway, even in season 1 Arthur and Merlin are so flirty? Merlin is the most disrespectful servant ever, and Arthur is just outraged and but also having the best time ever? You can see Arthur changing to be a kinder person, listening to Merlin and offering comfort, like when Gaius has to leave cause Edwin has come to Camelot and said Gaius is shit at his job 
> 
> Anyway it just struck how much they change each other, for the better, even if those first seasons. And how awkward they are around each other. They have literally never acted like servant and master, even when Merlin barely knew Arthur 
> 
> On a side note, Merlin is chaotic af, and the more secure he feels with Arthur knowing, the more chaotic he’s going to be. You’re doing great sweetie 😘 
> 
> comments are the actual best


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter ended up being longer than I planned and - as usual - went off in a hundred different directions. i just love arthur pendragon a whole lot tbh

The ride back to Camelot is a long and arduous one. It’s a handful of months into the new year, but frost still decorates the ground. The air holds a chill and the trees are all bare. Merlin draws his cloak further around him, snuggles down into the fur of his hood.

Normally he’d ride beside Arthur, but Arthur is currently up ahead with his Uncle. Agravaine is deep in conversation with the King, and Merlin’s stomach rolls at the sight of them.

Leon draws his horse closer to Merlin’s. Merlin nudges his arm. “So. I don’t like that.”

Leon follows his gaze to where Merlin is looking. “Neither do I.”

Merlin huffs. “And I don’t think Caerleon killed himself.”

“Neither do I,” Leon sighs, and they share a rueful smile.

He and Leon had slowed their pace to speak, hanging back as the rest of the men passed them by. Merlin glances around nervously, but there’s only the trees and one lone bird to hear them.

Merlin clears his throat. “Leon, I. I was awake.” At Leon’s frown, Merlin continues awkwardly. “Last night. When you and Arthur talked in the tent.”

Leon smiles. “I know.”

“You knew!”

“I knew you weren’t still asleep. You’re not very subtle,” Leon says apologetically.

Merlin takes in a deep breath. “About more than one thing, apparently.”

Merlin can’t read Leon the way he can read Arthur, doesn’t know him as well. He knows Leon is as close to Arthur as a brother, protects him as fiercely as Merlin does. He knows Leon served under Uther, but was always loyal to Arthur, and that the druids saved Leon’s life once upon a time.

Still, he can’t help feeling uneasy. Merlin wonders if this is what it’ll always be like. Even if the ban is lifted, every new person he meets will be a test. Merlin will always be holding his breath, waiting for their reaction, waiting to be confronted by either disgust or acceptance.

“Merlin.” Leon’s worried voice breaks him out of his thoughts. “Merlin, you saved Arthur’s life.”

“So you’re not going to stab me when Arthur isn’t looking?” Merlin blurts.

Leon nearly falls off his horse. “No! I - no!”

“Sorry,” Merlin mumbles. “I’m still a bit awkward, with the whole - people knowing thing.”

Leon leans in closer. “Was it - was it you who defeated the dragon?”

At Merlin’s hesitant nod, Leon’s eyes go wide. “And the griffin? And Morgana’s army?”

“Guilty as charged,” Merlin admits.

“Woah.” Leon shakes his head. “Merlin, you must have saved Arthur’s life a hundred times. Camelot too.”

Merlin flushes. “I - well, someone had to.”

Leon reaches out and clasps Merlin’s arm. Merlin can’t stop his flinch, but Leon must understand, because he just smiles gently.

“You’re taking this well,” Merlin manages eventually.

Now it’s Leon’s turn for his cheeks to colour. “I’d - I’d begun to suspect something.”

Leon looks a little embarrassed, so Merlin makes an encouraging noise. “I didn’t suspect there was a sorcerer among us. But Arthur is always so fortunate in battle. There’s been so many - victories at the very last minute.” Leon coughs. “For a while, I thought Arthur may be - charmed.”

“Charmed?” Merlin repeats softly.

“Charmed, or blessed, or - “ Leon waves a hand. “Cursed, but in a good way. Like there was something watching out for him. I see now that there was, only it wasn’t a charm. It was you.”

Merlin swallows. “Yes. I’ve watched out for Arthur. Right from the beginning, even when he was still an arrogant little brat and didn’t deserve it.”

Merlin’s self esteem really has no earthly idea how to process all these people suddenly complimenting him. The idea that the people of Camelot, the knights, his friends, could accept him, would be grateful, is a lot to take in. Better to distract Leon with a jab about Arthur, and unpick these strange feelings in his chest later. He’s well aware it’s not a healthy coping mechanism.

Leon laughs. “Does anyone else know? Gaius must have, he’s always getting you out of trouble.”

Merlin laughs. “Sometimes it was me getting Gaius out of trouble! Honestly, he’s a nightmare. The only other person who knows is Gwaine. I saved his life when Morgana’s men attacked.”

Leon nods. “And Percival?”

Merlin bites his lip. “No, Percival doesn’t know. Arthur asked me if I was going to tell him.”

“Are you?” Leon asks quietly.

“Probably. It’s all a bit much at the moment.” Merlin threads a hand through his mare’s mane. “I can’t quite believe Arthur knows. But yeah. At some point. Percival is nice.”

“He is,” Leon agrees. “And spends most of his time with Gwaine. So you better tell him before Gwaine blabbers to everyone else.”

Merlin snorts. “Good point. So, does this mean you’re going to tell me what you and Arthur were talking about?”

Leon pauses. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Merlin leans in closer. “That thing you were talking about when I wasn’t sleeping. That you and Arthur have been discussing.”

Leon goes pale. “I - I’m not - “

“I imagine it’s the same thing you and Arthur were talking about in the courtyard,” Merlin continues pleasantly. “The same thing you very obviously stopped talking about the moment I appeared.”

Leon clears. “I think it’d be a good time to take a break.”

“We’ve been travelling for less than an hour!” Merlin protests, but Leon is already calling ahead to the riders in front.

“Sorry, Merlin, I’ve got to go,” Leon says hastily, and urges his horse forward.

Merlin watches him go with narrowed eyes. He’ll get it out of him somehow.

-

Agravaine hogs Arthur’s attention for the entire ride back. It’s infuriating and Merlin isn’t the only one feeling that way. Even Percival looks like a forlorn puppy, and Merlin is fairly certain he’s never had Arthur’s tongue in his mouth.

Once they are back in Camelot, Merlin rushes away to carefully pass over the vial of poison for Gaius to examine. Arthur has to debrief his advisers still, and it’s obvious the men are physically and emotionally worn down.

Gaius doesn’t just take the vial, he forces Merlin to sit down and eat a bowl of broth, whilst he interrogates Merlin on every last detail. Afterwards, Merlin is too tired to do anything but tumble into bed.

He’s so tired that Gaius has to shake him awake the next morning. He peers at Merlin over his glasses, whilst shoving a bowl of porridge into his hands. Clearly, Gaius’ response to stress is to fatten Merlin up like a pig.

“Gaius,” Merlin says firmly. “I’m fine.”

Gaius peers at him suspiciously. “Did you tell anyone else about your magic?”

Merlin coughs. “Not exactly.”

“Merlin!”

“Leon figured it out on his own!” Merlin protests. “It wasn’t my fault!”

“Merlin!” Gaius snaps. “What did you do?”

“I might have saved Arthur’s life,” Merlin admits, and then, because it can’t get much worse, he blurts, “And I kissed him.”

Gaius pauses. Merlin can’t stop now he’s started. “Sorry. You probably don’t want to know that. Honestly, I didn’t think I wanted you to know that, but clearly I did, because I just told you.”

Gaius takes a moment to process all of that, in which time Merlin has chewed his thumbnail down to the skin. Finally, Gaius says, “And does Arthur return your feelings?”

“I think he does,” Merlin says in a small voice.

“Oh, Merlin.”

Blood fills his mouth where Merlin is worrying at his nail. “We haven’t had a chance to properly talk about it. He almost - I thought he was going to die.”

Gaius’ forehead wrinkles as he frowns. “But he didn’t, Merlin, thanks to you. And Arthur knows that.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. “I know.”

Gaius leans across the table and gently pulls Merlin’s hand away from his mouth. “Well, if you want the opinion of an old man - “

“Gaius - “

Gaius waves away Merlin’s interjection. “I’ve known Arthur since he was a toddler, and I’ve never seen him care for anything the way he cares for you.”

Merlin blushes. “Gaius!”

Gaius just smiles. “Perhaps the dragon was right after all.”

Merlin blinks. “I haven’t spoken to Kilgarah in some time. Not since I told him Uther had passed. Do you think I should tell him?”

“Tell him you kissed Arthur?” Gaius asks innocently, and Merlin chokes on his porridge.

“No!” Merlin yelps. “I meant - never mind.” He fidgets in his seat, feeling a lot better. “Thanks, Gaius.”

Gaius’ eyes crinkle at the edges fondly. “I haven’t done anything.”

Merlin grins, climbing to his feet. “Yes, you did. I have to go, but I’ll see you later.”

“You haven’t finished your porridge!”

“You fed me three people’s worth of soup last night, I’m sure I’ll make it!” Merlin calls over his shoulder, and hears Gaius snort in amusement.

Merlin manages to make it down seven corridors and a staircase before the butterflies in his stomach start up again. He does feel more at ease after talking to Gaius, but there’s still a thrum of nervousness that begins to beat as he rounds the corner to Arthur’s chambers.

Merlin doubts there is a hand book on how to navigate the budding romance between a King and his (completely illegal) sorcerer. Whilst Arthur, at times and through no fault of his own, can be painfully emotionally inept, he at least has more - experience in this sort of thing.

When Uther was King, he was always introducing Arthur to princesses and the occasional prince. Arthur knows how to - how to court, long walks and heartfelt conversations and flirting. Yes, maybe he needed Merlin’s help at first, but he picked it up pretty quickly, and then Merlin became jealous pretty quickly, and did his best not to pay attention.

And, yes, a lot of those were for show, were based on Uther’s desire for an heir. They never went anywhere, but Arthur genuinely did like some of the suitors he was introduced to. The ones who were just as reluctant to be used as pawns as Arthur was, who shared rueful glances with the Prince when their respective fathers schemed in the background.

Those were the worst ones, because Merlin couldn’t bring himself to dislike them. It wasn’t Princess Anna or Lady Lucy or Lord Thomas’ fault that noble parents clearly don’t have a romantic bone in their bodies.

The point is, Arthur has experience in people liking him in a non platonic way and how to respond to that. Merlin has a few fumbles with Will back in Ealdor, and his brief time with Freya, which he still can’t think about without getting tearful, so he doesn’t think about it.

His spiralling thoughts have brought to a halt without realising it. He can see Arthur’s door from here, but his feet are frozen. It’s Arthur, Merlin reminds himself, trying to calm his pulse. It’s just Arthur. It’s always been Arthur.

Taking a deep breath and pasting a smile on his face, Merlin pushes the door open. “Rise and - “

The words die on his tongue. Arthur arches an eyebrow. “Are you finished?”

“You’re dressed!” Merlin blurts.

Arthur takes a slow look down at himself. “Am I? Thank you, Merlin, for alerting me to that fact.”

Arthur isn’t just dressed, he’s dressed in that loose, white shirt that makes something hot spark in Merlin’s stomach. Arthur’s lent casually against his desk, looking over a piece of parchment. The sunlight that spills through the window behind him halos him in gold, the light fabric of his shirt offsetting Arthur’s tanned, muscular forearms.

“Merlin!” Arthur snaps, interrupting Merlin’s staring. “Are you listening?”

“No,” Merlin says automatically. “Why, did you say something interesting?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Well, you’ll never know now, will you?”

“I’m sure I can live with that,” Merlin says dryly.

Arthur rolls his eyes and pushes off of the desk. “Come on, the knights will be here soon. I can’t deal with Gwaine on an empty stomach.”

“Are we expecting Gwaine then?” Merlin frowns, following Arthur over to the dining table. It’s piled high with food, but Merlin wasn’t that late, which means Arthur deliberately woke up early and asked a servant to bring up enough food for the both of them.

Merlin glows a little when he realises there are several of his favourite dishes. In the middle of the table is a small bowl of raspberries, and that white, floury bread that Merlin likes.

“Sorry I didn’t come see you last night,” Merlin says shyly. (Which is mortifying. When was the last time he was shy around Arthur?) “I was so tired after Gaius was done interrogating me, that I fell fast asleep.”

Arthur reaches for a knife. “It’s probably for the best, I wouldn’t have been great company.” He sighs. “My meeting with the councillors went on for three hours.”

“For three hours?” Merlin repeats incredulously. “I thought it was a debriefing, not a question and answer session!”

Arthur laughs, bright and easy. “Doesn’t it always turn into one of those?”

“I don’t know how you put up with it,” Merlin tells him seriously. “Which councillor asked the most questions? It was that really old one, wasn’t it? The one who’d look more at home in a crypt.”

Arthur is properly laughing now, one hand clasped over his mouth. “Merlin, you can’t say things like that.”

“Who's going to tell on me?” Merlin counters. “You? You’re laughing, you’re complicit.”

Arthur looks young when he laughs, relaxed and fond as he bites down on a berry. They stain his lips for a moment, before Arthur licks them, and Merlin can’t drag his eyes away.

“It wasn’t the worst debriefing I’ve ever had,” Arthur concedes eventually. “Do you remember that time my father had me sit in on a six hour council meeting?”

“You mean when _we_ had to sit in on it,” Merlin corrects him. “At least you got to say something, I just had to stand there like - like a sentient rock!”

He shoves Arthur’s arm playfully. Arthur is sitting in his usual chair at the head of the table, with Merlin perched in the one to his left. Arthur catches his hand, linking their fingers together. Merlin feels his cheeks heat, but then Arthur glances down and frowns. “What have you done to your nails?”

“My nails?” Merlin peers at them. Embarrassment burns through him when he sees the ragged edges. “Oh, um. It’s nothing, I bit them earlier. Nervous habit.”

Arthur turns Merlin’s hand over, tracing the lines that bisect his palm. When he speaks, he keeps his gaze lowered. “I used to have the same habit, when I was a child.”

Merlin nods. “And you stopped when you grew up?”

Arthur gently places Merlin’s hand down on the table. “No. I stopped when I was eight, because my father told me it was unbecoming, undignified and I should know better than to show such obvious signs of cowardice.”

Arthur’s words land like a blow to the stomach. Merlin inhales sharply. “Arthur - “

“What were you nervous about?” Arthur interrupts. He reaches for his glass, lifting to his mouth so Merlin can’t see his face.

“You,” Merlin admits softly, and Arthur fumbles with the goblet. He catches it before it spills, but the bottom still clangs against the table. “I was nervous about this, that it would be different.”

“Different?” Arthur asks softly.

“Now that we’ve returned to Camelot,” Merlin clarifies. “And neither of us are being brought back from the brink of death.”

A slow smile crosses Arthur’s face. “Is that the only reason you kissed me?”

“No,” Merlin says automatically, then narrows his eyes as Arthur’s grin widens. “Do not act like a five year old and ask me to prove - “

“Prove it,” Arthur interrupts, the biggest smirk on his face. “Prove that you didn’t just kiss me because I was on the brink of death.”

Merlin crosses his arms. “Maybe that is why I kissed you.”

Arthur sighs wistfully, in a stunning impression of a forlorn maiden waiting for her husband to return from war. “Alas, I am very much alive. No threats to my life to be seen.”

“Gods, you are such a loser,” Merlin mutters, and leans forwards and kisses him.

The kiss is chaste, tentative. Merlin doesn’t have a lot of experience in this, but Arthur’s lips taste like berries, sweet. His mouth is pliant, gentle, letting Merlin take the lead. When they break apart, Merlin feels heady.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs. “Your hands.”

They had kissed without touching, just Arthur’s mouth beneath his. Merlin’s hand had remained on the table where Arthur had placed it, and he jolts at what he sees. Dancing over the back of his hand are trails of golden sparks. They glow and flicker as they travel from his hand up towards his wrist.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin blurts. “I didn’t cause that, I don’t know what happened.”

He shakes his head, completely bewildered. His magic sometimes acts instinctively, but it’s never done this before. As he watches, the constellation of glittering sparks swirl together.

“I really don’t know what my magic is doing,” Merlin admits hastily, biting his lip. “I can control it, I promise - “

“It’s making a shape,” Arthur interjects quietly. Merlin is a little afraid to see what Arthur’s eyes are saying, but Arthur looks transfixed. “I think it’s a - oh.”

Resting on the curve of his wrist, made up of a collection of glowing sparks, is a tiny dragon.

For fuck’s sake. Merlin is going to have a very stern word with his magic later.

Sighing, Merlin watches in resignation as the dragon takes flight. It loops once around Arthur’s head. Arthur gasps as it brushes past his cheek, almost playful, before each spark disappears into nothing, like a firework.

“Well.” Merlin clears his throat. “I promise that doesn’t happen all of the time.”

Arthur doesn’t look disgusted. Or like he’s planning to banish Merlin. He just looks awed. “Your magic can act on its own?”

“Sometimes magic is more instinctive,” Merlin explains. “Or at least mine is. So if someone was in immediate danger, I wouldn’t need to use a spell, my magic just reacts. Like a reflex.”

Arthur nods. “So what was your magic reacting to?”

Fuck. Reacting to his massive crush on Arthur most probably, though Merlin can never tell Arthur that. He’s got to preserve what’s left of the tatters of his reputation.

Merlin is just trying to find a different topic of conversation, when Gwaine bursts through the doors. “Rise and shine, princess!”

Merlin has never been more relieved to see Gwaine and his big mouth in his life.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Gwaine says, not sounding remotely sorry. He falls into a seat beside Merlin, staring at him intently. “You still have clothes on.”

Merlin raises his eyebrows. “Well, I imagine it’d give the chambermaids a bit of a fright if I walked here without them.”

Gwaine leers at him. “That’s not what they’d give you - “

“Gwaine, do you ever shut up?” Leon grumbles, walking through the door, Percival close behind. “Good morning, Arthur, Merlin.”

“See, why can’t you greet me like that?” Arthur complains to Gwaine. “I’m not even a prince anymore, let alone a princess.”

Gwaine shrugs. “You stop having shiny hair and big blue eyes, I’ll reconsider.”

Percival sighs. “Not that this conversation isn’t interesting, but didn’t you call us here for a reason?”

Arthur clears his throat, gesturing for Leon and Percival to take a seat. “Yes, I did. But firstly, have something to eat. I know you must still be tired from yesterday’s ride.”

“I slept well,” Leon announces. “Much better than I have done for the past three days. Probably because I didn’t have Gwaine lying next to me in a tent, kicking me awake every five minutes.”

Gwaine scoffs. “I don’t do that.”

“You do,” Percival and Leon say at the same time.

Merlin reaches for the bowl of berries. “Anyone think we’re maybe getting off track?”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says, shooting him an amused smile. “I’m sorry to call you here today after barely a night’s rest, but I have something important to say.”

Merlin’s eyes snap to Arthur’s face. Arthur continues. “I’ve called you here because you’re the only ones I can truly trust.”

Merlin sits up straighter. Leon frowns. “Arthur, what is it?”

Arthur’s gaze is steady. “There’s a traitor within Camelot.”

Silence immediately falls over the room.

Arthur sighs. “I know you all think it’s my Uncle.”

Merlin shares a wild glance with Leon.

“My King - “ Leon begins hesitantly.

“It’s fine,” Arthur says, his voice very even. “I think it’s my Uncle, too.”

In the aftermath of Arthur’s words, everyone appears at a loss of what to do. Merlin is frozen in place, the shock on his own face reflected in the faces of the knights. Gwaine’s mouth is hanging open, and Percival is staring at Arthur anxiously.

It’s like the moment is halted, a stutter between heartbeats, before time starts again and they all start speaking at once.

“Arthur,” Leon says pleadingly. “I didn’t keep it from you because - “

“Arthur, please,” Merlin interrupts, heart pounding in his chest. “We didn’t have any evidence, I couldn’t - “

Arthur holds up a hand and everyone falls quiet. When he speaks, he doesn’t sound angry or betrayed. Resigned is how Merlin would describe it. Hollow.

“I know why you didn’t tell me. Agravaine is a member of the royal household, I assume you didn’t have enough proof to accuse him.” Arthur swallows. “I also know you were trying to protect me from this.”

“When did you begin to suspect?” Leon asks, tone brittle.

Arthur settles back into his chair. “I suspected something was wrong after Morgana’s attack. Morgana knew we were coming, knew what path we’d taken.” Arthur hesitates. “I - I had to consider everyone. But all of you had been taken hostage, or injured in some way.”

“The only other people who knew were Gaius, Agravaine and a few of the councillors.” Arthur lifts his shoulder in a shrug. “Agravaine was the most obvious choice. He’s next in line to the throne after all.”

Arthur reaches for one of the knives laid out on the table, flipping it idly in his hands. “But I didn’t know for certain until Caerleon’s death.”

“You suspected foul play?” Merlin asks tentatively.

Arthur nods. “You saw Caerleon, there’s no way he would have ended his own life. He would have run his soldiers into the ground, would have bled them dry, even if he knew it was a battle he couldn’t win.”

“That’s the rub, isn’t it,” Gwaine says tersely. “He knew he couldn’t win, so he had to find another method to get rid of you.”

“With the poison,” Percival supplies.

“I don’t think that’s the only time someone tried to poison you,” Merlin says quietly.

There’s a gasp, but Merlin ignores it, staring at Arthur. “The night before the battle, I woke up because I thought someone had come into the tent. Or tried to.”

Arthur’s eyes soften. “I thought it was the wind.”

“Wishful thinking,” Merlin says miserably, and Arthur’s smiles wryly. “I guess they didn’t succeed, so someone put the idea in his head to poison the sword instead.”

Arthur rubs his eyes tiredly. “And when it failed, someone had to make sure there would be no witnesses.”

Gwaine stands up abruptly. His eyes are blazing, his hand going to his sword. “Just give me the order, Arthur. I’ll drag that traitorous bastard from his chambers myself.”

Arthur looks taken aback. A strange emotion flickers over his face, before he waves a hand. “Thank you, Gwaine. I appreciate your loyalty, but that won’t be necessary. Not yet anyway.”

Gwaine huffs. “Are you certain? I don’t mind roughing him up before he’s thrown into the dungeons.”

Merlin drums his fingers against the table. “If we expose Agravaine now, we’ll never find out what he’s told Morgana. He’s clearly working with her. And Agravaine finding out potentially puts Arthur in more danger. Agravaine could lash out if he’s cornered. This way we have the upper hand, we can plan ahead.”

Merlin bites his lip nervously, flushing as he realises everyone is looking at him. “That’s - that’s what you’re thinking, right? That’s your strategy?”

“That, Merlin, is exactly my strategy,” Arthur agrees, sounding immeasurably proud, and Merlin blushes all over again. “For now, we’re in control of the situation. We can use this to our advantage, find out what Morgana knows, what she’s planning.”

“I still vote for throwing the fucker in the dungeons,” Gwaine mutters, but he reluctantly sits down again.

“We need to step up the guard,” Leon says decisively. “Change the patrol route, Agravaine knows all our routines by now. He’s had time to learn everything he needs to.”

Arthur nods sharply. “I’ve thought about sending him away on a diplomatic trip, give us time to regroup.”

Percival interrupts quietly. “I don’t understand.”

Merlin’s stomach lurches at how forlorn Percival looks. Gwaine frowns at his friend, reaching out and squeezing Percival’s shoulder. “Don’t understand what, big guy?”

Percival shakes his head. “Why would he do this to Arthur? You’re his _nephew_. Surely he can’t want the throne that badly.”

Gwaine looks heart stricken, wrapping an arm around Percival’s shoulder. He opens his mouth, but clearly can’t find the words.

“Uther killed his brother,” Merlin explains. At Percival’s confused look, he elaborates. “Sorry, I forgot you weren’t in Camelot when Tristan, er, reappeared. That’s another story, but Tristan was Agravaine’s older brother. He blamed Uther for the death of Arthur’s mother, and they fought. Uther killed him.”

“I imagine Agravaine blames him for my mother’s death, too,” Arthur adds tonelessly.

Percival gasps. “But even so, that’s not Arthur’s fault. And Uther passed months ago.”

“Exactly.” Arthur’s face is carefully blank. “He can no longer get his revenge on my father, so he’ll get it through me. I don’t think he even wants the throne, but Morgana does. And Agravaine will happily help her topple me from it.”

Percival looks horrified. Merlin forgets sometimes that Percival missed almost all of Uther’s reign. He only knew Uther as the shell of the man he’d been, before Arthur succeeded him. He’s not like Leon, who grew up in this castle, who witnessed firsthand the lies and hatred and death that stains Camelot’s history. Or Merlin, who moved to Camelot a few years ago, but quickly became intimately aware of the bloodshed that shadowed Arthur’s childhood.

“Arthur,” Percival says finally. “I’m so very sorry.”

Arthur inhales. “So am I.”

“I really want to punch Agravaine in the face now,” Percival blurts, and it dispels the tension somewhat.

Arthur snorts, rubbing a hand over his face. “I think we all do.”

“We’ll have to form a line,” Gwaine muses. “Merlin, you can go first.”

“Merlin is not allowed to threaten any more foreign dignitaries,” Arthur orders.

Leon snickers. “Caerleon’s face was funny, though.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Arthur groans, and Leon laughs. “Right, let’s talk no more of this for today. There’s work to be done, but for now everyone stays on guard. Understood?”

There’s a rumble of agreement. The knights are slow to leave, hovering behind as Arthur gradually unwinds. Percival even gives Arthur a hug, which Arthur appears surprised but not unhappy with. Eventually, the door to Arthur’s chambers swing shut, and then it’s just him and Merlin.

Arthur exhales slowly, as though he’d been holding his breath, and slumps in his chair. Merlin wets his lips nervously. “Arthur, I - I’m sorry I didn’t tell you my suspicions about Agravaine.”

Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose. “Merlin, it’s fine. Honestly, I understand why you didn’t. You didn’t have any proof. You couldn’t go around accusing a member of the royal family, not without evidence. Besides, you were trying to protect me, weren’t you? In your own way.”

Merlin nods shakily. “We still - we still don’t have all the proof. Maybe, maybe it’s not Agravaine. It could be someone else.”

Arthur smiles humorlessly. “Perhaps it isn’t. Perhaps we both have this wrong. Then you’ll have to apologise for glaring at the back of his head all the time.”

Merlin splutters. “I don’t - how do you know that?”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “You’re not very subtle.” He brightens a little. “About anything, it would seem.”

“Took you long enough to work it out, didn’t it?” Merlin retorts.

Arthur snorts. He stands from his chair, reaching his arms above his head and stretching, before wandering across the room. Arthur sits down heavily on the edge of his bed, staring into the distance.

Tentatively, Merlin crosses the room. Gingerly, he sits down beside Arthur, close enough that their thighs are touching. After a moment, Arthur rests his head against Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin’s chest squeezes painfully.

“How long have you been worrying about this?” Merlin murmurs.

“A while,” Arthur says flatly. “I just, I think I.” He breaks off. “It’s stupid.”

Merlin nudges him gently. “No, it isn’t. What is it? Tell me.”

Arthur sighs and sits up properly. “I just wanted to pretend for a little longer. He’s my Uncle, he’s the only family I have left. Not just that, he’s my - he was my mother’s family.”

There’s tears burning in the corners of Merlin’s eyes. He reaches blindly for Arthur’s hand. “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”

Merlin makes a small noise from the back of his throat. “Yeah, but. I’m still sorry.”

Arthur grips Merlin’s hand tightly, and then says abruptly, “I don’t think it was my mother that day.”

Merlin almost falls off the bed in shock. “I - what?”

Arthur’s gaze is fixed on a spot on the wall, but his eyes are blank, unseeing. He’s gone somewhere Merlin can’t reach. “That day with Morgause. I don’t think the apparition she summoned was really my mother.”

Arthur turns to him. “The apparition Morgause summoned, that appeared real. But Cenred’s army were just skeletons. And you said Tristan was a wraith. He didn’t - he didn’t look like a person. What little magic I’ve seen since then, has never been able to recreate that. Is that something magic can even do? Bring back someone’s soul?”

Merlin swallows. He can’t lie to Arthur, not about this, and privately he’s always thought the same. “No, I’ve never heard of magic strong enough to bring a soul back from beyond this world. Cenred’s army was reanimated. And a wraith - that’s not someone’s soul, it’s a creature of magic. Or rather, dark magic that has been used to reanimate a body.”

Arthur’s mouth twists. “So it was a trick. She didn’t have the power to bring back my mother’s soul, so she created an illusion. She wanted to manipulate me into killing my father.”

Merlin shudders. “That is - that is always what I’ve suspected.”

Arthur sighs. “I know that’s what you told me before, but I just wanted to - check. Now that I know you have magic, now you can speak freely. I didn’t know if - maybe that was something magic could do.”

“I told you it was an illusion to stop you from killing your father,” Merlin manages. “But I also never believed it was real.”

Arthur rubs at his eyes. “I - well. That’s better, I think.”

“Better?” Merlin repeats quietly.

Arthur shakes his head a few times, coming back to himself. “If that apparition wasn’t my mother, then my mother is still at peace. Undisturbed, wherever she is. At rest and - watching over me. I hope.”

Merlin dashes at the tear that spills over his cheek. “That’s a comforting way to think about it.”

Arthur’s eyes are wet too, thick blond lashes damp and fluttering over the curve of his cheek. “But the rest of it was true, wasn’t it? My birth was the result of magic?”

“Yes.” Merlin looks down at their linked hands. “That part was true.”

Arthur runs a thumb over the back of Merlin’s knuckles. “Does that mean I have magic?”

Merlin gapes at him. “Arthur Pendragon, do you think you have magic?”

Arthur snorts at the use of his full name, bumping Merlin’s shoulder with his own. “The look on your face, Merlin. I promise I haven’t been secretly casting spells or summoning dragons - or burning herbs.”

“Burning herbs?”

Arthur shrugs. “I don’t know what witchy things you get up to.”

“I’m not a witch!”

“Are you sure?” Arthur asks seriously, then winces when Merlin digs his nails into Arthur’s palm. “I was only asking! Anyway, all I meant is that I don’t know whether being born of magic means at some point I’ll - “

“Develop magical powers?” Merlin finishes thoughtfully. “I don’t think so. That’s not how magic works. I do think magic likes you, though.”

Arthur stares at him. “Likes me?”

Merlin shrugs. “If you gave it a chance, yes. The phooka liked you. And the selkies, they gave you that seaweed, didn’t they?”

“I cannot believe we’re having this conversation.”

“I’m serious!” Merlin laughs. “Beside, my magic likes you, too. I’m pretty certain that’s what that little display was about earlier.”

Arthur doesn’t look convinced. “I think you’re making this up.”

Merlin shrugs. “If you say so.”

“Insolent brat,” Arthur mutters fondly. “Right. As much as I’d like to, I can’t spend the entire day in my chambers with you.”

Merlin can feel himself turn pink, but can’t help the wistful note in his voice. “I suppose not.”

Arthur catches him off guard by ducking forward and pressing a kiss to his cheek. “Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin blinks. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Yes, you did,” Arthur says firmly, and tugs him to his feet.

-

Merlin is sorting through his cupboards the next morning when he hears the door to Gaius’ chambers open. He ignores it and continues to rifle through his drawers; it’s probably just a patient. He can’t find his purple tunic anywhere, even though he’s sure he saw it the other day.

“Good morning, Gaius,” a voice calls, and Merlin freezes in the middle of deconstructing his wardrobe.

“Good morning, Arthur,” Gaius replies. “It’s good to see you looking well. How have you been feeling? Merlin told me you were poisoned.”

“Much better, thank you, Gaius,” Arthur says politely. “Though if it wasn’t for Merlin, I fear I wouldn’t be long for this world.”

“He is becoming a skilled physician,” Gaius says proudly, and Merlin smiles. “I also heard you negotiated a treaty with Annis, after Caerleon’s demise?”

There’s the sound of shuffling feet, as though Arthur is fidgeting. “I did. Hopefully it will hold, she seems a lot more level headed than her husband.”

“Well done, Arthur. You’re becoming a true King.”

Arthur coughs. “I don’t know. I still feel as though I have no clue what I’m doing half the time. Is Merlin about?”

Merlin decides that’s his cue to poke his head around the door. “I’m in here. I’ll only be a minute.”

Arthur looks at him strangely. “Right.”

“My room is a mess,” Merlin explains hastily. “And both of you will nag me for it, so neither of you can come in.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Well, hurry up, then.”

“Why?” Merlin frowns. “Where are we going?”

Arthur sighs. “If you hurry up, you’ll find out.”

“Ugh, fine,” Merlin groans, his words contradicted by how quickly he gathers his things and wriggles into his boots. He feels giddy and excited, fingers fumbling as he can’t help the smile that spreads across his face.

“I’m ready,” Merlin announces, slamming his bedroom door shut behind him. “See you later, Gaius.”

“See you later,” Gaius echoes, watching fondly as they leave.

Arthur looks handsome this morning, which isn’t new, but still nice. His hair is slightly tousled, curling over his forehead. He’s wearing a dark blue tunic, one he rarely wears but should wear more often in Merlin’s humble opinion. It’s paired with his worn leather jacket, one he’s kept for comfort more than anything, and dark boots that show the muscles in his calves.

“Are we going undercover?” Merlin asks suspiciously. “You look very ordinary this morning.”

Arthur stares at him. “And they say romance is dead.”

Merlin laughs. “No, I didn’t mean it like that. I just - oh. Don’t pull that face.”

Without really thinking about it, Merlin leans forward and kisses the disgruntled look off Arthur’s face. He’s buoyed by the warm feeling in his chest, curling a hand around Arthur’s neck and sighing into his mouth.

Arthur startles, but reciprocates soon enough. He deepens the kiss, just teasing Merlin’s lips with his tongue, before breaking apart and smirking when Merlin whines. “I still don’t forgive you for calling me ordinary, but it’s a good start.”

“I don’t forgive you for a great many things,” Merlin replies loftily. “Top of the list is when you made me cover for you and Sophia, and then Uther threw me in the stocks.”

“That was years ago!” Arthur protests. “And I was enchanted!”

“I am feeling generous, so I’ll allow you to make it up to me,” Merlin says graciously, and squeals when Arthur ruffles his hair.

There are two horses waiting for them in the courtyard. They aren’t the usual horses they ride, but the little grey mare seems sweet enough. She nudges Merlin’s arm with her head, snuffling at his hands.

“I don’t have any apples,” Merlin apologises. “What’s her name?”

Arthur swings up into her own. “I made the mistake of allowing the new stable boy to name her.”

“What did he pick?”

“Blossom,” Arthur says, sounding resigned. “Apparently, it’s to encourage Spring to hurry up and arrive.”

“There are worse names,” Merlin muses, urging his horse forward. “For example, Arthur is particularly awful - “

“You are being particularly awful today,” Arthur says flatly, and Merlin laughs all the way out of the gates.

Arthur leads them through a little path in the woods. The sunshine filters through the trees, dappled greens and golds. Merlin hasn’t been down this track before, but he’s content to ride beside Arthur and bask in the small patches of sunshine.

He had half feared that Arthur would have drawn into himself after yesterday’s conversation, shut himself away, embarrassed at appearing so vulnerable. Merlin wouldn’t have judged him for it; grief and betrayal have an impact on a person. Everyone responds differently and Merlin had prepared himself to be patient, wait for Arthur to come to him when he was ready.

However, if anything Arthur seems relieved to have this weight off his shoulders. There’s a lightness to him that Merlin hasn’t seen since before Morgana took Leon and Percival hostage. He laughs and teases with Merlin as they journey deeper into the forest. Arthur is more than capable of riding a horse one handed, and Merlin catches him occasionally rubbing his thumb over his mother’s ring.

“Where are we going?” Merlin asks finally. “I have no idea where we are.”

“That’s because you have the sense of direction of a mole.”

“Ha!” Merlin pokes Arthur in the arm. “Jokes on you, because moles use their noses to - “

“It’s a surprise,” Arthur interjects quickly. “But we’re almost there.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “Is it a good surprise? Does it involve swords? Or death?”

Arthur sighs. “It does not involve swords and it’s a good surprise, Gods, you try to do something nice - “

Merlin doesn’t hear the rest of Arthur’s grumblings, because they’ve reached a break in trees and he can finally see their destination.

“Woah,” Merlin breathes.

Below them is a large town. From here Merlin can see the banners fluttering in the breeze, flags of every colour, greens and blues and reds. Distantly, there’s the sound of music, drums, and people singing.

“Is it a festival?” Merlin asks in excitement. “Where even are we?”

Arthur draws his horse to a halt. “An hour over the Northern border. No longer in Camelot, but close enough that we can plead deniability if we were caught. We won’t be, though, there’s hundreds of people here.”

He nudges his horse forward, leading them towards the town. “They have a winter festival each year. Traditionally, it’s to welcome in the Spring, but Spring has been so late, that they’ve, er, gone a little overboard.”

The closer they get, the louder the music becomes. “You’ve been here before?”

Arthur grins. “Yes, a handful of times. When I turned sixteen, Leon and I sneaked out of the castle to visit. We told my father Leon was taking me on a hunt.”

“I’m surprised Leon broke the rules,” Merlin teases.

A shadow passes over Arthur’s father. “Well. The year before had been a difficult one. Leon wanted to give me something to occupy my mind.”

Merlin wants to ask what happened when Arthur was fifteen, to warrant Leon breaking out of the castle and smuggling him across the border, but Arthur quickly changes the subject. “Look, we can leave the horses here.”

At the entrance of the citadel there are large stables, where visitors can leave their horses. Arthur passes the groom in charge a handful of coins, whilst Merlin says a quick goodbye to the horses.

“Come on, Arthur,” Merlin says impatiently, bouncing on his feet. He can hear the music properly now, drumming in his ears. There are delicious smells coming from the marketplace, making his mouth water. “I want to see everything.”

“It’ll still be there in a few minutes time,” Arthur laughs, but lets Merlin drag him through the stone arch at the entrance to the city.

Merlin has seen festivals before, attended celebrations in Camelot, but there’s something exciting about exploring a place you’ve never been. The town is bustling, full of people laughing and chattering. Up ahead Merlin can see jugglers in bright garbs, dancers, even storytellers, surrounded by a circle of wide eyed children.

The flags above are a riot of colour, but Merlin spots one design that occurs over and over. It’s a bright yellow flower on a purple background, and Merlin tugs at Arthur’s sleeve. “What does that flag mean? Why are there lots like that?”

Arthur peers at where he’s pointing. “The flower represents spring. The locals say if you have a flag with the flower on, a flower will grow in your garden.” He looks around, eyes focusing on something. “Stay here.”

Merlin stays put as Arthur walks over to one of the stalls. He says something to the woman tending it that makes her laugh, pointing at something before handing over some money.

Arthur thanks the woman, before walking back over to Merlin. “Here.”

He holds out his hand and Merlin takes what’s in it. It’s a square piece of fabric, bright purple with a yellow flower stitched into the middle. Merlin holds it up to the sky, laughing as he sees it matches the flags above. “Thank you, Arthur!”

Arthur ducks his head. “They sell lots of them. Come on, they had fire eaters last time I was here.”

Merlin stops him with a hand to Arthur’s wrist. Arthur stills under the touch, eyes meeting Merlin’s cautiously. “Arthur, I mean it. Thank you for taking me here.”

“After yesterday, I wanted to get away from the castle. This was the first place I thought to go.” Arthur swallows, a light pink dusting his cheeks. “And you were the first person I thought to go with.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says helplessly.

“The only person really,” Arthur rambles. “Normally, I like to be alone with my thoughts, but not - not when it comes to you.”

“You still have me,” Merlin says, voice trembling. “Even with what I am, I’m still - I’m still the same person.”

Arthur lifts a hand to cup Merlin’s cheek. “Merlin. I know.”

They kiss right there, the busy, bustling crowd parting around them like a river around two stones. Arthur’s arms encircle his waist, pulling him closer as Merlin fists his hands in Arthur’s collar. It’s the kind of kiss Merlin feels all the way down to his toes; hot and desperate and dizzying.

When they finally separate, Merlin keeps his grip on Arthur’s shirt, rests his forehead against Arthur’s and breathes the same air whilst he waits for his heartbeat to settle.

Arthur’s pupils are blown, his lips red and slick. He settles a proprietary hand on Merlin’s hip, his fingers nearly spanning the entirety of Merlin’s waist.

“Fire eaters,” Merlin manages after a minute. “You promised me fire eaters.”

Arthur breaks into a smile. He steps back off, only to take Merlin’s hand and drop a quick kiss to the back of it. Merlin turns beet read, and Arthur’s grin widens. “So I did.”

“Lead the way, then,” Merlin croaks, and Arthur grabs his hand and tugs him into the crowd.

-

They spend the rest of the morning exploring the town. In return for the tiny flag, Merlin buys a bag of roasted chestnuts and shares them with Arthur. They burn both their fingers and their tongues, but they are a welcome warmth in the cold winter air.

There’s a man selling spiced wines, the queue for it taking up half the square, and Merlin makes Arthur join it with him.

“You won’t like it,” Arthur tells him, obligingly stepping into place behind a rowdy group of men, who look as though they’ve had several cups already,

“I will,” Merlin insists. “It smells amazing.”

Arthur is standing in line behind Merlin, and he slips his arms around, pulling Merlin back against him. “You won’t like it, and then you’ll make me drink your cup, and I still have to ride back to Camelot on a horse.”

Arthur presses an absent minded kiss to Merlin’s neck, just below his ear. Merlin has finally reached the front of the line, and he grins at the seller. “Can I have two cups of wine, please?” He jerks a thumb in Arthur’s direction. “I’m definitely going to enjoy it and won’t give any to him.”

The seller blinks at him like he suspects Merlin is drunk already. “If you pay for it, you can give it to whoever you like, lad.”

“Fantastic,” Merlin chirps, and hands over the money.

They drink it whilst huddling under one of the stands, watching the midday entertainment. (Acrobats who Merlin suspects are using sorcery, because no one can possibly be that bendy.)

Merlin takes one sip and pulls a disgusted face.

“You don’t like it, do you?” Arthur says flatly.

Merlin shoves the cup into Arthur’s free hand. “No.”

“I told you.” Arthur sighs. “If I fall off my horse, you’re carrying me home.”

“Okay. Can we go watch the archery competition?”

“I don’t know why I put up with you,” Arthur mumbles, which isn’t a no.

They do go watch the archery competition, which is actually more for Arthur’s benefit than Merlin’s. Merlin doesn’t mind, though, not when he can curl into Arthur’s side and listen to Arthur ruthlessly critice everyone competing.

In the afternoon, they sit by the lake. There’s a boat race going on, and he and Arthur make bets on which one is going to win. Arthur has brought them both sweet pastries, warming their hands and filling their stomachs. Merlin licks the berry juice off his fingers, and smirks when he catches Arthur looking.

Merlin finishes the last of his pastry, and settles back on his elbows. “Arthur.”

Arthur is watching the boats intently, waiting for the race to begin. “Hm?”

“I had a really nice day today.”

Arthur turns to him, eyes as blue as the cool waters of the lake. “So did I.”

“More fun than when you came with Leon?” Merlin teases.

“Well, I don’t make a habit of putting my tongue in Leon’s mouth, so yes.”

Merlin elbows him. “Well, I should hope not.” He flushes, worrying he’s suddenly been too presumptuous. “Not that - I only meant - “

Arthur reaches out and catches Merlin’s chin. His grip is strong, certain, making Merlin’s heart pound. “Merlin. I don’t want to do this with anyone else. Only you.”

Merlin swallows. “Oh.”

Arthur gently tilts his head up. “Is that what you want?”

“Yes,” Merlin blurts. “Only you.”

Arthur is frowning at him, and Merlin pulls away from his grip.

“Merlin,” Arthur asks worriedly. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

The simmering anxiety under his skin makes it hard to speak. “Nothing, it’s just - “

Arthur has gone pale. “Merlin, if I’ve done anything to offend you, I apologise, I’d never - “

“No, Arthur, no,” Merlin says quickly, hearing the fear in Arthur’s voice. “You haven’t done anything wrong. You should just probably know I’ve never - never done this before.”

Arthur is still frozen in place, and Merlin continues. “I’ve never - courted someone before. Or been courted. At least I think - is that what this is?”

Arthur swallows. “That’s what I’d like this to be. I want to court you. But only if that’s what you want.”

“And you don’t mind that I don’t have a lot of - experience?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, of course not. Why would I care a whit about that?”

“Oh.” Merlin feels suddenly able to breathe again, relief flooding through him. “Then you should know I really want this.”

Arthur still looks apprehensive. “Are you certain? Because I know I’m the King, but I’d never force myself upon someone. There’s no - obligation.”

Merlin carefully brushes Arthur’s hair back from his forehead. “The last thing I feel is obligated. I want you, Arthur. Just you.” Merlin shrugs. “Besides, I wouldn’t worry. I wasn’t joking about being able to take you apart with one blow.”

Arthur looks so relieved at that, Merlin has to kiss him all over again.

-

Arthur calls a council meeting the next morning. Merlin stands behind Arthur’s chair and watches lazily as everyone files in. He leans against the rough stone, trying and failing to not think about the heated kisses he and Arthur shared in his chambers, only thirty minutes earlier.

Arthur clears his throat as everyone is seated, and Merlin snaps to attention.

“As you all know, we have brokered a treaty with Queen Annis,” Arthur begins. “She is the new ruler of Caerleon’s kingdom, after his death. I hope this treaty will end the hostility between our kingdoms, and believe the treaty we've negotiated benefits both our people.”

“A skilful display of diplomacy, Sire,” Agravaine calls. Merlin tries not to vomit.

Arthur smiles at him warmly. “Thank you, Uncle. Now, onto more pressing matters. Lord Elton of Northumbria has requested we visit him and his lands.”

A murmur spreads through the room. Lord Elton is a staunch supporter of Camelot and an important strategic ally. He is, however, boring as fuck, and more paranoid than Merlin. (Though Merlin would argue it isn’t actually paranoia when it turns every time that people are trying to kill you.)

Anyway, on stately visits, Lord Elton keeps to a strict timetable, and delights in showing his visitors his seventeen armouries. He also has enough guards to fill Camelot three times over.

Arthur raises a hand, the chatter immediately dying down. “Unfortunately, I am unable to make the visit myself. I have other pressing matters of state to attend to, and have already been away from Camelot for too long, during our recent negotiations with Caerleon.”

“However, Lord Elton is an important ally, and to ignore his invitation would jeopardise our relationship with him.” Arthur smiles pleasantly, blue eyes wide and guileless. “Agravaine, I can think of no one better to complete the visit than yourself.”

Agravaine startles at the sound of his name, mouth opening in shock. For a fraction of a second, he glances around wildly, a cornered rat looking for an escape route. It’s over as soon as it began, expression smoothly transitioning into one of polite surprise.

“Me, my Lord?” Agravaine spreads his hands. “Of course, I am more than happy to undertake the trip. My only concern would be - “

“Then the matter is settled,” Arthur cuts in. “Thank you, Uncle. The trade links we have with Northumbria are essential to Camelot’s economy. I wouldn’t trust anyone else with such an important act of diplomacy.”

It’s only because Merlin is watching so closely, that Merlin can see the irritation that flares in Agravaine’s eyes. “As you wish, Sire. My only worry is that Lord Elton will be expecting the King himself. I wouldn’t want to disappoint him.”

Arthur laughs. “Nonsense, Uncle. That’s what makes you the only one eligible for the job. You are a member of the royal family. Sending anyone else would be an insult.”

Agravaine fixes a demure smile to his face. “Of course, Sire. Quite correct. I hadn’t considered that.”

Arthur nods graciously. “Now, onto our final matter of business. As is evident, this winter has been particularly harsh. It is one of the coldest on record and Spring appears no closer to arriving.”

“Thankfully, our rations and stockpiling have meant the people of Camelot have not had to suffer unduly. We have managed the current circumstances well. However, I am mindful not all in Camelot are as privileged as myself.”

Arthur shares a look with Leon, before taking a deep breath. “A few weeks ago, I received word that an encampment of druids have settled within Camelot’s borders.”

Merlin freezes.

Silence falls over the council. Arthur’s voice echos clearly through the room. “Their leader contacted Camelot, asking for aid. They rely on the land to provide for them, but the forests are bare and the earth frozen. And it’s not just food they need, but blankets for their children. Clothes. Supplies.”

Merlin still can’t move. This is what Arthur and Leon have been discussing, he realises distantly. This is what all those whispered conversations were about.

“I have a duty to all the citizens in Camelot,” Arthur continues. “And not just that, but a duty to myself, in the face of suffering.”

Merlin catches Gaius’ eye desperately, but he looks just as blind sighted as Merlin feels.

“The leader of the druids has asked that the druid people can once again trade within Camelot,” Arthur concludes. “And I intend to say yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alternatively titled: arthur and merlin go on a date to the medieval farmers market
> 
> honestly, writing this fic is like:  
\- encounters abandoned bbc merlin plot line  
\- gives arthur the agency and emotional intelligence to respond to it  
\- encounters abandoned bbc merlin plot line
> 
> this chapter assumes that arthur was told about tristan's death at some point by merlin. i don't think he was actually told who the wraith is in the show. (he might have been tbh, it was pretty early on in the season). so just assume he was for the sake of this chapter 
> 
> things that occurred to me in this chapter:  
\- pretty certain tristan is never mentioned again?? despite being agravaine's brother?? and thus relevant to his arc and a further motivator for him?  
i might be wrong, he might be brought up at some point, but not that i ever remember  
\- arthur is never told he was actually born of magic. merlin tells him morgauese was lying and that's the end of it  
\- i sadly do not believe that was arthur's mother that morgause conjured, i think it was an illusion to manipulate him. you may think differently which is cool, but that is my take on it  
\- whilst we're on the topic, i rewatched the episode and arthur apologising because he feels he caused his mother's death? HEARTBREAKING. and never mentioned again  
\- percival arrived in camelot after uther's reign, meaning he had no idea what he was like as a king. he's only ever knew uther following morgana's betrayal. just got me thinking that he would be so shocked to learn everything that's happened, which prompted me to include his reaction 
> 
> i got a little tearful whilst writing this chapter, because arthur's childhood was just so awful, god
> 
> side note - the scene where arthur gives merlin the flag is shamelessly inspired by the film Tangled. i haven't seen it for a while, but there's a scene where rapunzel has left the tower and is visiting the kingdom for the first time. it's such a lovely scene and i love it
> 
> anyway comments mean everything. i would love to hear people's thoughts on this chapter, as i put so much into it
> 
> thank you for reading this and i hope everyone is saying as safe as they can. i know the world is scary right now


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we stan an emotionally intelligent arthur pendragon 
> 
> When people bookmark my stories, I always have a look and see if they’ve said anything in the bookmark. Anyway someone’s bookmarked this story with “queen is back at it” and that is literally the best compliment I’ve gotten IN MY LIFE 💖💖💖💖

In terms of controversy, Arthur’s announcement is up there with the King wanting to marry a troll.

Merlin is still too shocked to move, can only watch on as the discussion in the room hits full volume. A tirade of questions are thrown Arthur’s way, each of which he answers calmly and in full.

“Sire,” one of the council members protests. “How do we know this druid is telling the truth? How do we know that’s what they are truly after?”

“What would be the value in them lying?” Arthur returns. “My father persecuted their people for years, why would the druids wish to step foot in Camelot but for necessity?”

Another councillor shakes his head. “To infiltrate Camelot, Sire, to use their magic against us!”

Gaius’ voice is steady as it cuts across the chatter. “The druids are a peaceful people. They’ve never harmed the citizens of Camelot before. I can’t imagine they’d start now.”

“Not to mention the druids saved my life,” Leon adds. “If it wasn’t for them, I wouldn’t be sitting here today. I was a head knight of Camelot, yet they showed me mercy and kindness.”

Later, when Merlin has gathered his wits enough to recall what the hell actually happened, he realises not all of the council members were adamantly against the idea. Several of them are up in uproar and a handful of them look ready to faint dead away.

Some, however, are sitting quietly, watching the events unfold. Gaius is well respected among the council, and his opinion holds a lot of sway. Merlin can tell his support for the proposal has made an impact.

“But the druids use magic!” one of the councillors is blustering.

“And the law still stands,” Arthur counters. “The druids will be prohibited from using dangerous and harmful magic within Camelot. They will still be able to trade wares and goods.”

“This could all be a trap,” another man insists. “Starving children, it’s the oldest trick in the book!”

“And if it’s not?” Arthur thunders, and everyone falls silent at the anger in his voice. “Is that a risk we take? Condemn those children to their fate, on the possibility this is all a feint?”

Arthur rarely raises his voice during meetings, doesn’t need to, carries himself with enough strength and poise that shouting isn’t necessary. But Arthur is angry now, clearly visible to Merlin in the way his eyes narrow and his jaw sets.

Arthur’s tone is calmer once he speaks again, but his gaze is steely. “I am more than aware this plea for help could be a well disguised attempt to infiltrate Camelot. Rest assured, this will be regulated carefully. The guards will patrol the marketplace, not just to protect the townspeople, but to ensure there is no hostility towards the druids too. I know that their presence in Camelot is likely to cause a - stir.”

“It’s not as though this will happen overnight,” Leon adds. “We will have time to plan this properly.”

“Exactly,” Arthur agrees, cutting Leon a grateful look. “This isn’t a snap decision. But it is a necessary one.”

“Before the Great Purge, trade with the druids flourished,” one of the older councillors says quietly. “Gaius, from what I recall you often found their healing knowledge useful.”

Gaius inclines his head. “Yes. the druids possess quite a depth of knowledge.”

The mood is odd after that, the atmosphere tense and electric. Arthur dismisses the council shortly after, and they disperse into small groups, clusters of men gathering together with bent heads, whispering as they exit the chamber.

Merlin is still so shocked that he doesn’t even remember walking back to Arthur’s chambers. He’s just suddenly there, Arthur closing the door hastily behind them, though he can’t for the life of him remember putting one foot in front of the other.

“That went well,” Arthur mutters, striding past Merlin. “Not a complete disaster, so that’s something.”

Merlin collapses into a chair wordlessly. Distantly, he notes his hands are trembling.

Arthur is pacing now, back and forth across the chamber. “I didn’t expect Lord Samuel to speak up at the end, but then he’s always been an old friend of Gaius. Of course, the reaction from some of the others wasn’t positive, I’ll have to make sure I - “

Merlin lifts his trembling hands to his face and buries his head in them.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s worried voice calls. “Merlin, what is it?”

Footsteps cross the room. When Merlin peers between his fingers, Arthur’s eyes are wide and troubled. He drops to his knees in front of Merlin’s chair, close, but not quite touching. “Merlin, I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. I wanted to, but I needed you to know - you have to understand - “

“Arthur,” Merlin manages in a strangled voice. “Could you give me a minute?”

Arthur draws in a breath. “Oh - yes. Of course.”  
It takes Merlin more than one minute to gather himself, to calm the frantic beating in his chest. Once he can breath a little more evenly, he uncovers his face. “You’re really going to allow the druids to trade within Camelot?”

Arthur nods. “I intend to, yes.”

“I don’t - why?”

“It’s not because of you,” Arthur blurts. Merlin stares at him. Arthur turns bright red. “Shit, no, I. I’m making such a mess of this.”

Merlin blinks. “Arthur, what - “

“I’ve been thinking about this for some time,” Arthur continues urgently. “Before I even knew about your magic. Even before I became King, I couldn’t forget - “

Arthur trails off. Merlin is startled by the expression on his face. He’s never seen Arthur look like this. Haunted. Stricken.

“Couldn’t forget what?” Merlin asks urgently. “Arthur, what’s wrong?”

Abruptly, Arthur stands. He looks ashen, and he stumbles back a few paces. “I won’t pretend knowing about your magic didn’t play a part in my decision, but it’s not why I’m doing this. I’m doing this because it’s right. The druids are people, like anyone else. They don’t deserve to suffer because of their beliefs, especially when they’ve suffered enough at my father’s hand.”

Arthur shakes his head, and Merlin is shocked to see his eyes are wet. “I’ve always said I’ll rule this kingdom fairly and justly. I hope to now prove that. It took me long enough to find the courage.”

All of that is true, is what Merlin’s always hoped for, painful, terrible hoping, but there’s more. Arthur ducks his head and Merlin’s heart squeezes at the sight of tear tracks on his cheeks.

Merlin rises from his chair hesitantly. “There’s more, isn’t there?”

For all his talk of finding his courage, Arthur has never been a coward. He takes a deep breath as though he’s steeling himself, before setting his shoulders and looking Merlin straight in the eye. “Yes. There is.”

“Tell me,” Merlin says softly. “Arthur, whatever it is, I want to know.”

Arthur’s bottom lip trembles. “You were shocked. When I made the announcement to the council.”

Merlin lets out a choked laugh. “Well, yeah. It’s certainly not what I was expecting you to say. It’s a lot to take in. All of this is, sometimes I - sometimes I’m not convinced I’m not dreaming.”

“I’m sorry it took so long.”

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs gently. “I know when you’re stalling. You don’t have to tell me anything if you don’t want to. But on the off chance you do want to, I’m here. Always.”

Arthur rubs at his eyes. “I don’t know what I did to deserve you in my life.”

Merlin gasps. “Arthur, I - “

“It happened years ago,” Arthur cuts in, voice carefully even. “My father ordered a raid on a druid camp. He wanted me to lead it. I was - young. Inexperienced. Stupid, so stupid and arrogant, desperate to prove myself to my father. To my men.”

The tears are falling freely now, cutting paths down Arthur’s cheeks. Merlin is frozen in place, heart in his throat.

“I told my men to spare the women and children, but I know - I know some of them didn’t.” Arthur’s voice cracks. “The screams - I can still hear them, and the blood, and the smell. It was chaos, I tried to stop it but I - I froze. I didn’t know what to do.”

Merlin dashes at his own eyes, his own tears stinging.

“Everything that happened that day was my fault.” Arthur shudders.. “Do you - do you remember that little druid boy? The one we helped escape from Camelot?”

Merlin can never forget him. He just makes an affirmative noise, and Arthur nods. “There was a moment in the tunnels, when I thought you weren’t coming. And I thought, this sounds ridiculous, that fate had decided it was my time to set things right. To fight my way out of there, to save the child, even if - even if I died as consequence.”

Arthur bites his bottom lip. “I suppose your mind goes to strange places in the heat of the moment. And when I became King, I knew I had to right my wrongs. To show the druid people they were safe and respected within Camelot. Leon and I spoke several times about different options, before I suddenly received the message from their leader. I don’t know. Perhaps that was the hand of fate as well.”

“Arthur,” Merlin asks quietly, “how old were you when your father ordered the raid?”

A shadow passes over Arthur’s face. “Don't, Merlin. Please. It was my fault.”

“You were fifteen, weren’t you?” Merlin guesses, and feels sick when Arthur stiffens. “Arthur, you were a child.”

“Nearly sixteen,” Arthur answers tightly. “And it makes no difference.”

“Is that why Leon sneaked you out of the castle?” Merlin presses. “You said when you were sixteen he took you to the winter festival we went to.”

“Yes. That was why.” Arthur laughs humorlessly. “That sounds terrible, doesn’t it? As though leaving the castle cured me of all my guilt. I didn’t mean it that way, Leon just - wanted to get me away for a while. After what happened, I was - I was in a bad way, for a few months. No one could get through to me, not even Morgana. That was back when we were close.”

“Arthur,” Merlin tries, but Arthur is hastily wiping at his eyes.

“Not that any of that matters,” Arthur says harshly. “I’m not the one who suffered, I shouldn’t have - my tears won’t undo this wrong. All I can do is prove myself now.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says clearly. “None of that was your fault.”

Arthur does a double take.

“I know you think it is.” There’s a tiny hurricane battering against Merlin’s rib cage, a storm of fury and sorrow. Sometimes, Merlin thinks he would kill Uther all over again for what he did to his son. “I know that’s probably what you’ve believed for years. But, Arthur, it was not your fault.”

Arthur’s face crumples. “It was.”

“You were a child,” Merlin snaps, a hint of his carefully controlled rage bleeding out. “I don’t know what the fuck your father was thinking.It was the men who didn’t listen to you, who ignored your orders.”

“But I should have done more - “

“You were frightened,” Merlin interrupts fiercely. “And overwhelmed, you should never have been put in that position.”

“It still wasn’t enough. I should have known what to do.”

Merlin takes a step towards him, reaching out a careful hand. “Arthur, you’ve believed that for so long. I don’t expect you to stop believing that today, because I’ve told you otherwise. Guilt doesn’t work like that.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. “But that’s okay, because I’ll believe it for you. And I’ll remind you every day, if you want me to. Not that you’ll listen, given that you ignore everything else I say.”

Arthur’s lip curves. “Not everything.”

Merlin smiles. “And, Arthur, I know you’ll set this right. You always keep your promises. If you say you’re going to do this, I believe you. I’ve always known you’re destined to bring peace to the five kingdoms.”

Arthur still looks miserable, so Merlin pulls him into a tight embrace. Arthur startles, muscles locked in place. Merlin wraps his arms around his neck, and waits patiently until Arthur relaxes, unwinds all at once like his strings have been cut.

He grips Merlin to him fiercely, burrowing his face into Merlin’s shoulder. Merlin doesn’t say anything when he feels his shirt become damp, nor when Arthur begins to tremble. He just cups the back of Arthur’s head gently, threading his fingers through the soft hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck.

“You’ve never told me about what happened at the druid camp before,” Merlin murmurs.

“I was ashamed,” Arthur mumbles. “I didn’t want you to think poorly of me. But you - you had a right to know. What I did.”

Merlin pulls back slowly. “A right to know?”

Arthur keeps his hands on Merlin’s hips. “Yes, not just because we’re - “

“Courting?” Merlin interrupts. “That’s what you called it before, you can’t take it back now.”

Arthur snorts. “I wasn’t taking it back, you’re just incapable of letting me finish a sentence.”

Arthur sounds more like the Arthur he knows, and Merlin smiles to himself. “Please do proceed, My Lord.”

“Idiot,” Arthur mutters. Merlin’s arms are still looped around his neck, and he runs a gentle thumb over the edge of Arthur’s jaw. “It’s not just because we’re courting, but because it was an attack on the druids. On - magic users. People like you. I wasn’t sure if you viewed the druids as - your kin.”

Merlin blinks at him. “I - okay. We’re not having this conversation stood up.”

“What do you suggest?” Arthur asks, sounding bemused. He doesn’t pull away when Merlin takes his hand and leads him towards the bed. “Merlin, I cannot lounge around on my bed all afternoon.”

“You’re the King of Camelot,” Merlin scoffs. “Who’s going to stop you?”

Despite his protests, Arthur kicks off his boots. They settle on top of the blankets, curled to face each other. Merlin rests one hand under his pillow, and links the other with Arthur’s, their joined hands laying between them.

“I’m not like the druids,” Merlin says quietly. “They deserve to be respected. They shouldn’t have to spend their lives fleeing prosecution. I’m glad they’ll be able to trade with Camelot again. But I’m not like them.” He clears his throat. “I’m not like anyone.”

Arthur makes a soft noise. “What do you mean? You’ve said that before. That your magic isn’t the same as other sorcerers.”

Merlin shrugs, the hollow ache in his chest deepening. “It’s not. Most sorcerers aren’t born with magic. And druid magic is different, too. I don’t really understand it, but they draw their magic from the earth. From the world around them. They - know things. Prophecies.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully. “I’ll have to ensure their safety within Camelot. Hopefully some of the citizens will remember the time before the Purge, when the druids were close allies with Camelot.”

Merlin sighs. “I can hardly believe such a time existed.”

Arthur squeezes Merlin’s hand. “I know. I’ve been pouring over the old records of the kingdom. It seemed like a good place to start if I eventually want to repeal the ban on magic. It would be good to speak to Gaius, he’d know what - “

“What?” Merlin yelps, freezing. “What did you say?”

Arthur frowns. “I said it would be useful to speak to Gaius - “

“Arthur Pendragon!” Merlin yells, sitting up. “What do you mean you’re going to repeal the ban on magic?”

Arthur pauses. “Of course I am, eventually. Logistically, I’m still working out the - “

Merlin grabs a pillow and whacks Arthur around the head with it. “I am going to kill you!”

Arthur holds his hands up to defend himself. “Merlin!”

“What do you mean you’re thinking of lifting the ban on magic?” Merlin shouts. “Why do you - you can’t just drop a bombshell like that on me!”

“Merlin!” Arthur hisses, wrestling the pillow away from him. Merlin manages to get in a good few hits, before Arthur clamps his hands around Merlin’s wrists. “Seriously, only you of all people could get into a pillow fight with the King!”

Merlin glares at him. “That is not the topic of conversation here! Can we please get back to you lifting the ban on magic?”

Arthur’s eyes go wide. He lets go of Merlin’s wrists, sitting back on his haunches. “Merlin, you had to know.”

“Know what?” Merlin snaps, and his voice trembles.

Arthur lifts a cautious hand. Achingly gentle, he tucks a lock of hair behind Merlin’s ear. “That I care for you too deeply to keep the law as it is.”

Merlin opens his mouth, but no words come out.

Arthur traces a slow circle in the hollow just below Merlin’s ear. “Not just because your very existence is outlawed, though that is something that keeps me up at night. Merlin, unless the ban on magic is lifted, you’ll never be able to be yourself. Truly yourself. You’ve had to keep so many parts of you locked away, hidden. To live like that.” Arthur shakes his head. “That’s no existence.”

Anything Merlin would want to say is caught in his throat. His heart is thumping in his chest like a jack rabbit, the swell of emotion so strong it’s almost painful.

“Merlin, why are you crying?” Arthur asks in concern, and Merlin realises he is crying. Burning, stinging tears that travel down his cheeks. “What is it?”

Merlin’s voice is hoarse, even to his own ears. “I just - can’t believe this day has come.”

He wipes at his face with the back of his hand. “I always believed you’d be the greatest King this kingdom had ever known. That one day magic would return to the land, that we’d all be free. But I also - it was a little like a fairy tale. Something that would happen when I was older.”

Merlin sniffs. “I didn’t realise until now how - how painful hoping for something can be.”

“I can’t imagine what it’s been like,” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin twists his hands in the blankets. “Sometimes - sometimes I still don’t believe it. It’s like my mind has caught up, but my body hasn’t.”

“Is that why you wouldn’t use your magic around me at first?” Arthur asks. At Merlin’s confused blink, he smiles slightly. “You had me cover my eyes when you changed the colour of my favour. You used magic to heat my bath water, but you didn’t want to talk about it, and I didn’t want to force you. Even the little golden dragon - you said that wasn’t intentional.”

Merlin stares at him. “You noticed all of that?”

In response, Arthur kisses him. It’s sweet, a soft brush of Arthur’s mouth against his. It’s over within seconds, and yet Merlin still feels his heart turn over in his chest.

“I’ve always noticed,” Arthur murmurs. “I just didn’t understand what that meant before.”

Merlin flushes. “Oh.”

Arthur smiles at his shy expression. “I really didn’t mean to drop it into conversation like that. I’m not completely tactless. I thought we could discuss the trade negotiations with the druids, before naturally progressing to how magic can be reintegrated back into the kingdom.”

Merlin frowns. “We?”

Arthur gives him an odd look. “Yes. Merlin, who did you think I’d consult on how to lift the ban on magic?”

“Um. Gaius?” Merlin guesses.

Arthur laughs. “No!”

Merlin stares at him. “Uh. Geoffrey?”

“Geoffrey?” Arthur repeats incredulously. “Geoffrey the court librarian!”

“He has a lot of books!” Merlin protests. “He’s very knowledgeable on lots of subjects!”

Arthur groans. “Merlin, it amazes me how you are both the most intelligent and most oblivious man I know. It’s you, you idiot. Obviously it’s you.”

“Me!” Merlin squeaks. “What! I can’t consult you on this! No, this is too important.”

Arthur shrugs. “You’ve never had an issue with making your opinions known before.”

“Not on something like this,” Merlin hisses. “This is turning over a law, this is politics and legalities, I’m in no way equipped, I’m. No, Arthur.”

Arthur sighs. “Merlin, do you have magic?”

“Yes, but - “

“Because I don’t,” Arthur interrupts loudly. “The ban on magic has never affected me. It is my privilege, my ignorance, that my life has been left untouched. I have no idea what people with magic have experienced, what changes are needed, what would work, what wouldn’t.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. If the ban on magic is to be lifted, then those with magic should have a say in how it is done. Of course, for now the only sorcerer I know is you. In the future, when magic is legal once more, I hope more men and women with magic will be able to - “

“Please stop,” Merlin begs.

Arthur freezes. “Oh. I’m sorry if - “

“If you carry on like that,” Merlin says hastily, “I’m going to start crying again. And we’ve both cried enough today to fill a river, so I’d rather not.”

“Oh,” Arthur says, his lips curving into a fond smile. “It’s probably for the best. If you start up again, I’ll definitely begin blubbering, too. I never could stand to see you miserable.”

Merlin’s mouth drops open, warmth spreading through him. Arthur doesn’t seem to notice, because he continues. “We can discuss it more thoroughly later. Getting the trade with the druids re-established is our first priority. If anything, it will give us a good impression of the people’s attitude to magic.”

“Okay.” Merlin swallows. There’s something unsettled ticking in the back of his mind. Arthur has been so honest with him today, so vulnerable. Merlin can’t help thinking he hasn’t completely done the same.

“Arthur, there’s still things you don’t know. Things I’ve done to keep my magic secret. It’s part of the reason I was so afraid to tell you in the first place. It was only one secret at first, but then there were so many lies and I - I didn’t know how to untangle them.”

Arthur frowns. “Merlin, I understand. You were assigned to be the manservant of the Crown Prince of Camelot. Your life was constantly at risk. I’m sure there were many things you had to do to keep your magic concealed.”

Merlin can’t help thinking about Kilgarah, about what Arthur would say if he knew Merlin had been the one to set him free. Or Morgana, who he poisoned, though Arthur might not mind that one as much given she turned out to be a murderous hag.

Now that Merlin has Arthur, now Arthur knows the truth, Merlin can’t bear to lose him. All the secrets he’s had to keep over the past years bubble up in his throat, play on a loop in his head.

“Merlin.” Arthur gently lifts Merlin’s chin with the pads of his fingers. “If you want to tell me, I will listen. If you don’t want to, or aren’t ready, then that is your choice. But you never owe me an explanation for trying to keep yourself alive.”

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. “I don’t understand how you can trust me.”

“You trust me, don’t you?” Arthur reasons. “Even though I’ve given you no reason to. It’s about time I return that trust.”

Merlin sighs. “I wish we could spend the rest of the day lounging around on your bed.”

Arthur laughs, looking at Merlin under his lashes. “You do?”

Merlin flops onto his back, wiggling against the pillows to get comfortable. “It’s been an emotional few days.”

Arthur lies back too. He props himself up on his elbow, leaning over Merlin. He drags his knuckles over the curves of Merlin’s ribs, smirking at Merlin’s shudder. “Well, hopefully that’s most of the big conversations out of the way. You know, I think most people wait until later in their relationship to have such emotionally draining heart to hearts.”

Merlin feels his eyelids grow heavy and they flutter closed. “Do you think we have time for a nap?”

Arthur huffs a laugh. Merlin turns on his side and feels Arthur draw closer. Their legs tangle together. Arthur is now running a gentle hand over Merlin’s spine. “Merlin, you told me you’re running errands in the lower town this afternoon.”

Merlin peeks one eye open. Arthur is facing him, his hair tousled where it rests against the pillow. “Wake me up in a few hours then.”

“Merlin,” Arthur protests. “Fine. But only a few hours, okay?”

Merlin doesn’t answer, already lulled to sleep.

-

Agravaine leaves the castle the next morning.

Re-establishing the trade with the druids is such a delicate matter, Arthur won’t be able to concentrate if he’s always looking over his shoulder. There’s already too much at stake here. Allowing Agravaine to stay could jeopardise the entire situation.

Merlin, because he’s never claimed he wasn’t petty, deliberately wakes up early to watch him leave. There is something extremely satisfying about seeing Agravaine ride away on his horse before dawn has even broken.

Merlin leans against the chilly stone wall, watching until Agravaine is nothing but a blob on the horizon.

“About time,” Merlin mutters, and slopes away to get on with the things he’s actually meant to be doing.

He’s returning Arthur’s chain mail to the armoury when he bumps into Percival. “Oh, hello.”

“Hello, Merlin,” Percival smiles. His cheeks are red, his hair windswept, and Merlin wonders if he’s been out on the practise fields. “How are you this morning?”

Merlin colours a little; it’s bad enough that Arthur picked such good looking knights, but did they have to be polite as well? “I’m well, thank you.”

Percival inclines his head, unlacing his vambraces. Merlin hovers for a minute, before clearing his throat. “Percival, I - I did want to speak with you, actually.”

Percival pauses in putting away his sword. “Of course, Merlin. What is it?”

“What you said the other day, about Agravaine.” Merlin sighs quietly. “I know Arthur really appreciated it. That you were so - horrified, by the whole thing.”

Percival’s eyes cloud with sadness, and he sits down heavily on the wooden bench. “I’ve never known Uther properly. I only saw how he appeared after Morgana’s betrayal. But Leon has told me how he ruled this kingdom. I understand Agravaine holding a grudge against the old King, but Arthur has done no such wrong.”

Merlin takes a seat beside him. “No, he hasn’t. But I don’t think Agravaine cares about that. He’s bitter. Resentful. All he wants to see is the Pendragon line destroyed, and that’s what Morgana wants too.”

Percival sounds as though he’s choosing his words carefully. “Leon says Morgana wasn’t always this way. That she used to be kind. That she cared for the people.”

Merlin pulls one leg to his chest, resting his chin on his knee. “She did, once. When I first came to Camelot, Morgana was always standing up to Uther. She always went out of her way to protect those in need, even those Uther considered beneath him. She was a lot like Arthur, in that way.”

His throat feels tight and he takes a moment to compose herself. “But I don’t think she’s that person anymore.”

“Leon said she ordered her guards to fire on the people,” Percival says quietly. “I’ve said it before, but I think she’s gone half mad. Leon said even the sorcerer who was with her looked troubled.”

Merlin snorts. “He must have had some second thoughts, because he ended up knocking her out.”

Percival nudges his arm. “Well, it was lucky that he did, or Arthur and Leon might never have escaped.” He tilts his head to one side. “Though I’m sure you would have come up with something. You always do.”

Merlin has the distinct feeling they’re talking about something else now. “Yes. Well. I always was good at thinking on my feet.”

Percival claps Merlin on the back, hard enough that he almost falls off the bench. “Something that we’re all grateful for, I’m sure.”

When Merlin glances at him, there’s an amused smile dancing over his mouth. He grins back. “I have always said Arthur is lucky to have me.”

Percival laughs. “You’re not the only one, Arthur never shuts up about you.”

Merlin chokes. “I - what?”

Percival rises from the bench, stretching lazily. “He never stops talking about you. Especially to Leon. Leon still won’t tell us what happened that night he and Arthur cracked open six bottles of mead and - “

“He did what?”

Percival shakes his head. “Leon hasn’t cracked yet, but Gwaine will get it out of him eventually. Right, Arthur’s called an important meeting about this business with druids, hasn’t he?”

“Yes, but that can wait,” Merlin says, hastily climbing to his feet. “What does Arthur say about me? What has he - “

“I really have to go,” Percival says apologetically. “I need to get changed still and my chambers are on the other side of the castle to Arthur’s.”

“The meeting isn’t even that important!” Merlin moans, but Percival has already left the armoury.

The meeting is actually quite important, so Merlin heads to Arthur’s chambers himself. He ponders on the way there on what Arthur could have said to Leon about him. He bets he could get it out of Leon if he tried, Leon definitely has a soft spot for him.

Arthur is sat by his table when he enters. He’s focused on the papers in front of him, quill pressed to his mouth as he reads through them thoughtfully.

“Good morning,” Merlin says cheerfully. His arms are full with laundry he picked up on the way, and he presses a quick kiss to Arthur’s check as he passes him.

“Good morning, beloved,” Arthur says absently, tapping his quill against his mouth.

Merlin walks straight into a bed post.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, lifting his head. “What was that noise?”

“Nothing!” Merlin squeaks. His hip is throbbing painfully from where he collided with the solid wood. “Nothing, it was nothing, what - what did you just say?”

Arthur frowns. “I asked what that noise was. That large, thumping noise. Did you just walk into a bed post?”

“No,” Merlin lies. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, could we get back to the part where - “

“If you didn’t walk into the bedpost, why are you holding your hip like that?” Arthur asks patiently.

“I’m not holding it like anything!” Merlin protests. “What is wrong with you today?”

Arthur stares at him. “Merlin, you’ve been in here for less than two minutes.”

“Obviously that was long enough to form an opinion on how strange you’re being,” Merlin retorts. “What are those papers for?”

Arthur looks bemused at the sudden change of topic, but he gestures to the sheets of parchment obligingly. Merlin wanders over. He pushes some papers aside and hops up onto the table. Like this, he’s sat in the crook of Arthur’s legs, their knees brushing.

Arthur’s eyes darken. He runs a proprietary hand over Merlin’s thigh, and Merlin inhales sharply. Something hot stirs in his stomach, burning hotter when Arthur’s mouth curves into a smirk.

Arthur’s hand settles high on Merlin’s thigh, thumb moving in lazy circles. Merlin inhales sharply as his thumb dips lower. Arthur grins, wolfish, all white teeth and a sharp tilt to his mouth.

“Arthur,” Merlin manages, “What are you doing?”

Arthur hums. “What do you want me to do?”

Merlin wets his lips. Arthur tracks the movement with his eyes, and Merlin feels hot all over. “I - I want you to kiss me.”

Arthur uses the hand on Merlin’s thigh for balance, as he leans up to meet Merlin’s mouth with his own. It’s not like the kisses they’ve shared before; this one is burning, needy. Merlin whines as their tongues meet, slick and hot. The kiss is bruising, but Merlin gives as good as he gets, until they’re both panting.

Arthur draws back abruptly. His hand tightens suddenly on Merlin’s thigh, the shock of pain going straight to Merlin’s cock. He’s already growing hard in his trousers, and he groans involuntarily. “Why are you stopping - “

Arthur inhales heavily. Like he doesn’t realise he’s doing it, he lifts his free hand to Merlin’s lips, presses his thumb to the swollen skin there. Merlin mewls, and Arthur drops his hand like it’s caught alight.

“Merlin,” Arthur groans. “Merlin, we - we can’t.”

“Yes, yes, we bloody can,” Merlin hisses.

Arthur lets go of Merlin’s leg, runs a hand through his hair. “Merlin, the knights will be here in a few minutes.”

Merlin whines. “Fuck.”

“Fuck,” Arthur agrees. “Right, you - you have to get off the table, or I can’t guarantee I won’t bend you over it.”

Merlin gasps, sliding off the table and as far away as possible, even as arousal tugs at his stomach. “Don’t - comments like that aren’t helping!”

He throws himself into a chair, unable to look at Arthur until he can control his heart beat again. When his face is no longer hot enough to fry an egg on it, he’s horrified to find Arthur’s shoulders shaking. “Arthur! There is nothing funny about this!”

Arthur clears his throat. “I mean, it is a little funny.”

“You’re such a bastard,” Merlin tells him flatly, and Arthur cracks up. “Arthur! I’m going to have sit across from Leon and talk about _druids_, all whilst knowing what this table could have been used for - “

Arthur finds this so funny that he’s still doubled over with laughter by the time Leon arrives.

Leon takes one look at them both, and says, “I don’t want to know,” and that only sets Arthur off again.

Merlin tries really hard to be annoyed, but Arthur looks so carefree and beautiful when he laughs, that he’s not sure he manages it. Damn romantic feelings.

-

It’s decided, after much discussion, that the druids will start trading in the marketplace that Wednesday. Wednesday is the second busiest market day, so there should be lots of opportunity for them to barter. But they’ve kept Saturdays for just the townsfolk, which should hopefully appease those who will argue the druids have stolen their livelihood.

Merlin doesn’t understand how the druids could have stolen anything, given they literally have nothing, and will be contributing to the economy anyway, with their own wares and goods. But Gwaine says that’s what the more prejudiced villagers will be muttering into their cups, so they have to keep it to one day, at least for now.

Arthur wakes early on Wednesday morning and spends the first few hours pacing incessantly. On Arthur’s fiftieth lap of his chamber, Merlin begins to worry he’s actually going to wear a path into the stone.

The best way to deal with Arthur in these moods is to leave him to it, but stay close. If Merlin tries to talk to him before he’s ready, Arthur will become flustered and rattled. If Merlin leaves, Arthur will let his own thoughts run riot, reach breaking point, then bottle up everything he feels and continue with a single minded determination, that would be impressive if it wasn’t so alarming.

Once they’ve reached hour four of pacing, Arthur’s shoulders are no longer up to his ears, which means Merlin can start needling him a bit.

Merlin hangs out of the window, and exclaims, “The druids are here!”

Arthur startles, before he rushes to the window. “They’re here?”

Merlin sighs. “Ah, no, I was wrong. It’s just Gaius in a cape.”

“Just Gaius in a - Merlin!” Arthur shakes his head. “Gaius isn’t even out there.”

Merlin shrugs. “The sun must have been in my eyes.”

Arthur stalks back over to his desk, but not before shooting Merlin a suspicious look. “I know what you’re doing.”

Merlin draws his legs up, sitting cross legged on the window seat. “And what is that?”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Trying to distract me before I wear a hole into this floor.”

“Is it working?” Merlin asks cheerfully.

“No,” Arthur mutters. “But thank you for trying.”

He does finally sit down, though, taking a chair at his table. He drags an apple towards him, carving it a bit too intensely with a knife he finds from somewhere. Merlin has long since accepted Arthur has at least three knives on him at all times.

“Arthur,” Merlin says quietly. “It’s going to be fine.”

“But what if it isn’t?” Arthur sighs. “What if someone tries to hurt one of the druids? Or they all refuse to trade with them?”

“The druids have wares to sell, too,” Merlin says. “They’ll bring things with them that the townsfolk will want. Beside, I guarantee there’s a sorcerer or two among that marketplace, who will be overjoyed to see the druids return.”

Arthur crunches down on a slice of apple. “I suppose that’s true. And not all of the townsfolk can have agreed with my father’s laws. Some of them must remember the time before the Great Purge.”

“Exactly,” Merlin agrees.

Arthur groans. “There’s just so much that could go wrong. And this - this is so important to me.” He looks away, glancing down at the apple in his hands. “You know the reason behind that, now.”

Merlin’s heart lurches. “I do. And I’ll be right here by your side when they - oh god. Arthur, they’re here.”

Arthur snorts. “Very funny.”

Merlin blanches. “No, Arthur, I’m not - “

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Merlin, I’m not coming over there to see Gwaine in a dress, or whatever your latest trick is going to be.”

“Arthur, they’re actually here!” Merlin snaps, and Arthur’s head shoots up at the panic in his tone. “I’m not joking this time, come see for yourself!”

Arthur stumbles over to the window. Merlin budges over so there is enough room, and then they both watch the procession of druids trickle into the citadel. The sun is high in the sky today, sunlight streaming through the courtyard, as if it’s welcoming the druid’s arrival.

The procession is small; it had been agreed between both Arthur and the druid leader that only a handful of druids would enter Camelot initially. Merlin can see groups of men and women, one or two children among them. They are dressed in heavy cloaks, greys and browns, and they carry with them a few wagons, which must contain their wares.

Arthur’s tower is high enough they can follow the druid’s procession into the upper town. He and Arthur watch in silence as they begin to set up their stalls. The other citizens in the marketplace begin to do the same. It’s too far away to read their expressions. Merlin wonders what they’re thinking.

“Druids,” Merlin says finally. “Trading once again within Camelot.”

Arthur doesn’t reply, but he does take Merlin’s hand in his.

It had also been decided that Arthur wouldn’t greet the druids on arrival. Better to treat them like any other group of traders and allow them to set up. Arthur would visit the marketplace a few hours after the market had begun, to show his face and more importantly, his support for the druid people.

Leaving it a few hours would also mean that, if all the townsfolk were being bigots and refusing to buy from them, Arthur’s presence would hopefully encourage some cooperation, (and some loose wallets).

The castle is strangely quiet as Arthur and Merlin make their way outside. Several of the guards are patrolling the marketplace, plain clothed in order to appear more inconspicuous.

“This has to be a good sign,” Merlin says tentatively. “No one’s about, so they must all be at the marketplace.”

“You’d hope so,” Arthur answers tightly. They reach the top of the steps that lead down into the courtyard. “Buying things and behaving themselves, not just gawking and getting into fights.”

Merlin shrugs. “Depends if Gwaine is about, I - Arthur, what is that?”

Arthur freezes. “What is it?”

Merlin lifts a finger and points. “That.”

There’s a small boy playing in the courtyard. For one, heart stopping moment, Merlin inexplicably thinks _Mordred_, before his brain takes over. The boy can only be five or six, Merlin has no idea how old Mordred is now, but it’d be far older than that.

Besides, this boy has ashy blond hair and big brown eyes. He was playing some game with a handful of stones, but he’s gone very still now, eyes fixed on the pair of them.

He is, very obviously, a druid.

Merlin can tell, can feel a little flicker of magic, but it’s obvious aside from that. The boy is dressed in a dark cape, simple, stitched clothes. There aren’t many children that live in the castle, but Merlin knows most of them, keeps an eye out for the younger ones who are still finding their feet.

Arthur must come to the same conclusion, because he says, “Is he a - “

“Yes.”

They both glance around the courtyard, but there’s no one else around.

“Right.” Arthur takes a deep breath. “Right.”

Slowly, Arthur walks over to the child. Merlin stares at his retreating back in disbelief, before hurrying after him.

The boy eyes them warily as they approach. Arthur crouches down in front of him, even though the ground is dusty. “Hello, my name is Arthur. What’s your name?”

The boy mumbles something that Merlin mishears as ‘ham.’

“Ham?” Merlin sputters. “Your name is ham?”

The little boy scowls at him. “No.”

“His name is Tam,” Arthur hisses, scowling at Merlin too. Great. “Tam, how did you get here?”

Tam shrugs. “My sister brought me in the wagon.”

Arthur smiles. “Ah, I see. And how - how did you get to where we are now? Where these big steps are.”

Tam shrugs again. “I wanted to see the big castle.”

Arthur adjusts his stance, so he’s now sitting cross legged in front of the boy. Tam looks less cautious now. “Did you get lost?”

“Yes.” Tam’s face falls. “My sister is going to be very cross.”

Arthur hums thoughtfully. “I bet if we took you back to your sister right now, she wouldn’t be cross with you.”

Tam brightens for a moment, before looking crestfallen again. “I don’t know the way.”

“That’s alright,” Merlin says gently. “I know the way back. We can go together.”

Tam thinks about this for a moment. He’s a solemn little thing, though Merlin reminds himself he must be frightened. Any child would be in a new place and surrounded by strangers. After a moment, he smiles, and Merlin can see the gaps where his baby teeth have fallen out.

“Do you know my sister?” Tam asks curiously.

Arthur climbs to his feet. He makes a big show of dusting himself off, which makes Tam laugh. “No, but we’ll find her. What is your sister like?”

“Bossy,” Tam says immediately. He slips his little hand into Arthur’s. “She has brown hair. And she’s very tall. Taller than me. Do you live in that castle?”

Arthur blinks at the question. “Yes, I do.”

Merlin follows behind them, carefully guiding Tam around an overturned cart. Tam is peering around in excitement, bouncing on the balls of his feet. Now that he’s found his voice, he can’t seem to stop chattering. “When you came out of the castle, I thought you might be the King.”

Arthur coughs, and Merlin smirks at him. Arthur glares back, but Merlin is already tugging Tam to a stop and dropping down beside him. “Well, you must be a really clever boy, because Arthur is the King.”

Tam gasps, staring up at Arthur with wide eyes. “But you don’t have a crown!”

Merlin laughs. “He only wears it at really special times. The rest of the time, it’s kept safe in the castle.”

Tam narrows his eyes at Arthur, before stepping closer to Merlin and whispering, “Is he really the King?”

Merlin nods seriously. “He is.”

Tam spends the rest of the journey asking about the castle; how many windows does it have, does his crown have its own room, where does Arthur keep his gold, is it boring living inside all the time. Arthur answers the questions as best he can, occasionally exchanging amused glances with Merlin over Tam’s head.

The marketplace is bustling once they reach the edge of it. Merlin is pleased to see how busy it is. A few people are giving the druids a wide berth, but others are discussing their wares with them, negotiating trade and trying to haggle deals like they would with anyone else.

He can see the knights weaving through the crowds. Gwaine is chatting with a woman whose well he helped fix last week. Leon is standing by one of the druid stalls, having a quiet conversation with an elderly man.

Tam tugs at their hands; Merlin had taken his other one after seeing the size of the crowd, panicking it’d swallow him whole. “That’s my sister over there.”

Tam is surprisingly strong, dragging them towards a stall where a woman is selling fabrics. It’s clear she’s Tam’s sister, same smile, same features. Her eyes go wide when they land on Tam. “Tam! What the - I left you in the wagon ten minutes ago!”

“I sneaked out.”

“Tam!”

“I wanted to see the castle!”

“How did you even get out?” the woman exclaims. “You are in so much trouble, I cannot believe - “

The woman turns to Arthur and Merlin, and drops the roll of fabric she was holding.

“He’s the King,” Tam explains helpfully. “Only he doesn’t have a crown, ‘cause he only wears it at special times. I’m hungry.”

“I.” The woman swallows. “You’re the - you’re - “

“The King, I told you,” Tam whines. “Can I have some bread?”

“You are so much trouble,” his sister hisses back. “So much trouble, our first time in Camelot and you run into the King - “

“He was no trouble,” Arthur says earnestly. “We were just bringing him back to you. You’re his sister?”

The woman stares at him, before shaking herself. “Yes, I’m Laurel.” She hesitates. “My brother doesn’t usually run away and accost royalty. He was very excited about journeying here. We’ve never travelled to such a large city before.”

“He asked lots of questions,” Merlin offers.

Laurel blanches.

Arthur kicks him in the shin. “Ones we were more than happy to answer.”

Laurel glances between them both. “Are you really the King?”

Arthur shuffles. “Yes, I am.”

Laurel appraises him for a long moment. Her eyes are clever, watchful, like a blackbird. Finally, she says, “You're not how I thought you’d be.”

To Merlin’s surprise, she gives them a wry smile, before crouching down beside her brother. Tam shoves a piece of bread in his mouth, wiggling as Laurel brushes his hair back from his forehead. “Tam, what were you thinking? It’s dangerous to run off on your own.”

Tam shrugs his shoulders. “I wanted to see the castle.”

Laurel sighs. “I would have taken you to see the castle.”

Tam shakes his head. “And I wanted to find Emrys.”

Arthur frowns. “Who?”

“Well, we better leave you to your trading,” Merlin says quickly. “They do say noon is the best time to sell - “

Arthur blinks. “I’ve never heard anyone say that.”

Lauren is still talking in a hushed tone to Tam. “Tam, I told you. Emrys is a legend, he doesn’t live in Camelot.”

“Goodbye Laurel,” Merlin says loudly, wrapping a hand around Arthur’s wrist and yanking him forward. “Goodbye, Tam.”

“Yes, he is,” Tam says indignantly. “Because I found him - “

“Oh, look, berries,” Merlin shouts inanely, and drags Arthur into the crowd. Arthur can’t protest, caught up in the swell of people.

“Merlin,” he manages once there’s enough room to speak. “Do you think you could go let go of my wrist now? I’m a little concerned about my blood circulation.”

Merlin drops it sheepishly. “Ah. Sorry.”

“No matter,” Arthur says gallantly, even as he massages the marks where Merlin dug his nails in by accident. “Do you want to fill me on what happened back there?”

Merlin considers bluffing, thinks better of it, and tries his best to smile winningly instead. “I’ll tell you later?”

Arthur shrugs. “Fine. Is that Gwaine headed towards the wine merchant?”

“Shit, yeah,” Merlin realises, and then they’re thankfully too busy averting a crisis to discuss any more life changing revelations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact initially they were going to have sex in this chapter, but i just made them cry a lot and deal with their feelings instead I'M SORRY.
> 
> In the show they don’t say how old Arthur was during the druid attack, but in my head I always thought he was 15? So that’s how old he was in this story. I really don’t think it’s at all unrealistic to believe Uther would have forced his fifteen year old into that position. (Probably would have seen it as a right of passage.) 
> 
> I’m aware I’m focusing on Arthur’s back story a lot, but it was necessary, I intend to explore Merlin’s feelings more. 
> 
> Side note- Tam was actually going to be part of a separate plot, but I scrapped it cause it was a bit on the nose. I’m a bit uncertain how I’ve wrote him in here, but you can only read your own writing so many times before just posting the thing. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for all your lovely comments, I love to read them all 💖


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> is it really slow burn if it doesn't take them 80k to take their trousers off

Unsurprisingly, it’s Gwaine’s idea.

Merlin walks into the armoury to find Leon, Gwaine and Percival in the middle of a discussion. Well, Gwaine and Leon are in the middle of an argument. Percival is watching on in quiet amusement.

“Merlin!” Gwaine calls, catching sight of him. “Just the man!”

Merlin eyes him suspiciously. “The man for what?”

“We’re getting Arthur drunk,” Gwaine announces.

Leon scowls at him. “That is not what I said.”

Gwaine shrugs. “Close enough. We’ve decided Arthur needs an evening at the tavern with his knights.”

Merlin blinks. “Oh. Right.”

Gwaine leans on his sword, something Leon looks personally offended by, and grins at him. “We thought it’d make him feel better about his Uncle being a backstabbing traitor.”

“Somehow I don’t think three pints of mead will do that,” Merlin mutters. “It’s a nice thought, though. What do you need me for?”

Gwaine rolls his eyes. “Obviously we need you to get Arthur to come.”

Merlin scoffs. “Ha, Arthur never does anything I tell him. I wish he did, it’d save me my daily headache.”

When he looks up, all the knights are looking at him with pitying expressions. “What? It’s true! He has the self preservation of a fly!”

“If you come, then Arthur will come,” Gwaine says slowly, as though he’s explaining something to a small child.

“What?” Merlin frowns. “I’m not coming! You said it was an evening out with the knights. And I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’m the only one here not in armour.”

“Doesn’t matter,” Gwaine shrugs. “You can be an honorary member. If you don’t go, neither will Arthur. Defeats the whole point.”

Merlin groans. “I hate the tavern.”

Percival blinks. “But you’re always at the tavern.”

Leon nods. “Arthur is always complaining he can’t find you.”

Merlin sighs. “All those times I said I was at the tavern, I wasn’t actually at the tavern.”

The knights stare at him blankly.

“I was _somewhere_ _else_,” Merlin says meaningfully.

It takes a moment but then there’s a chorus of, “Oh.”

“Christ,” Merlin mutters, still not completely comfortable with people knowing his secret. “Camelot is lucky to have you lot defending it, isn’t it?”

“Come on, Merlin,” Gwaine whines. “It’ll be a laugh. What else are you going to do with your evening?”

“Nap,” Merlin says honestly.

“Nap!”

“I’m tired!” Merlin complains. “And now you all know why. Honestly, all I want is a quiet night in.”

“And you still can,” Percival reasons. “Just after Arthur’s had a night out on the town.”

“To take his mind off things,” Gwaine agrees. “He can have a good cry if he likes. I won’t judge, I’ve wept into my cups more than once.”

“Really talk it out,” Leon adds.

Merlin gives up. “It can’t be a tavern in Camelot.”

He ignores Gwaine’s whoop of excitement. “Arthur won’t be able to relax if it is, he’ll be too worried about being recognised.”

Leon hums thoughtfully. “That’s a good point. I don’t think I’ve seen Arthur drink in public since he became Crown Prince.”

It’s true; Arthur rarely loses control, is well versed in keeping a mask in place around the members of court. Uther drummed that into Arthur, not that the same rules applied to him. Merlin can remember more than one banquet where Uther was red faced and deep into his cups. He can also remember serving Arthur with baited breath, on edge for when Uther’s mood flipped from jovial to cruel.

Arthur tried to protect Merlin, even then. He could always tell when his father’s mood was going to darken, would send Merlin away to complete some poorly constructed chore.

“I know a place,” Gwaine offers. “There’s a town a day’s ride from here. No one would know who Arthur was, especially not in a tavern that size.”

“Well, if it’s a recommendation from Gwaine,” Percival drawls, and Gwaine shoves him in the arm.

“You have to tell Arthur,” Leon says, valiantly ignoring the wrestling match that is now going on between two of Camelot’s finest knights. “Ask him if he’ll come.”

“Why do I have to tell Arthur?” Merlin protests. “I don’t even want to go!”

“Because Arthur will listen to you,” Gwaine wheezes, from where Percival has him in a headlock. “You have to tell Arthur - “

“Tell Arthur what?” Arthur interrupts, walking into the armoury. He doesn’t even blink at Percival and Gwaine’s tussle.

“Gwaine wants to get you drunk,” Merlin says immediately.

“Merlin!” Gwaine wheezes.

Merlin spreads his hands. “You told me to tell him!”

There’s a smile in the corner of Arthur’s mouth; it’s amused and affectionate and just for Merlin, and it wraps around his heart like a sunbeam. “I’m sorry, Gwaine, but I’m just not that kind of girl.”

Leon and Percival laugh uproariously. Gwaine turns red and massages his neck from where Percival has released him. “Why did you have to say it like that? The princess will never agree to it now.”

“Agree to what?” Arthur asks. He folds his arms and leans against the door frame. Arthur’s in a short sleeved tunic today. His biceps are - distracting, to say the least.

Leon is the one to answer. “There’s a tavern a few towns over. Gwaine has suggested we could visit. It’s been a stressful few weeks.”

Arthur hums. “It has been that. What with you and Percival being kidnapped.”

“And Gwaine nearly dying.”

“And Arthur’s Uncle turning out to be a - “

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Merlin hisses.

“It’s a good idea,” Arthur says. “Besides, we deserve to celebrate. You’re right, it’s been a tough few weeks, but Camelot is stronger for it.”

Merlin sighs. “Fine. You’ve bullied me into it, Arthur’s made a rousing speech. Can I go now?”

“Merlin isn’t keen on going to the tavern,” Percival advises Arthur in a conspiratorial tone. “He’s never actually been to one before.”

“I have been to a tavern!” Merlin snaps. “I just said I’d rather be doing something else!”

“Napping,” Gwaine tells Arthur on an aside. “Run ragged, our Merlin.”

“Right, I’m leaving,” Merlin tells them all in a flat tone. “If I’m going to have to put up with this for an entire weekend, I might as well get some peace and quiet whilst I can.”

“See you later, Merlin!” the knights shouts after him. Arthur rolls his eyes good naturedly, following him out of the door.

The corridors are relatively quiet at this time of morning, so Merlin only looks around once before drawing closer to Arthur. Their shoulders brush as they walk along. “I didn’t think you’d agree to that.”

Arthur shrugs. “It’s as much for their sake as mine. We all need the chance to let off some steam. I know Leon is still on edge from Morgana’s attack, even if he hides it well.”

“Are you really going to let Gwaine get you plastered?” Merlin asks sceptically, and Arthur laughs.

“Maybe,” Arthur concedes. “It could be fun to get away from the castle for a while.”

They pass by a concealed alcove, and Arthur glances around before pulling Merlin into it. He presses his body against Merlin’s, Merlin’s back hitting the stone wall with a thump. When he kisses Merlin, his mouth is hot and teasing, biting down gently on Merlin’s bottom lip and making him gasp.

It shouldn’t come as much of a surprise, but Merlin has discovered he quite likes Arthur manhandling him. There is something that makes his blood heat at the thought of how strong Arthur is, how muscular, how Arthur could pin him down if he so chose.

“Hm,” Merlin murmurs when they separate. “I think I’ve found the real reason you agreed so easily.”

Arthur grins. “Nothing gets past you, does it, Merlin?”

Merlin thunks his head back against the wall. Arthur crowds close, slipping his arms around Merlin’s waist. Merlin likes that too. He and Arthur were always tactile, probably inappropriately so, but Merlin hadn’t realised how touch starved he was until now.

It’s lonely in Camelot. His mother lives so far away, and he doesn’t get the chance to visit as much as he should. She was the only one who ever touched Merlin with any kindness, the only who didn’t flinch at his - oddness. He didn’t have any friends in Ealdor apart from Will, and Will is - gone now.

It’s better now that more people know about his magic, but still. Loneliness is a difficult stain to wipe from a body.

The way Arthur touches him, casual and affectionate, frequent, a little proprietary, yet with complete respect for Merlin’s boundaries, it’s - everything. It’s slowly stitching up the open wound that is Merlin’s heart.

“Don’t start,” Merlin warns. “I’ve already had enough of the knights teasing me today.”

Arthur runs a hand over Merlin’s spine. Merlin wonders how touch starved Arthur is; he has a sudden vision of a tiny blonde boy in a big, echoing castle, with a dead mother and a solemn, grieving father, and fifteen guards watching his every move.

“I apologise,” Arthur says seriously. “Once we’re at the tavern, I promise we can mercilessly bully Gwaine together.”

“I’m going to keep you to that,” Merlin says, and kisses Arthur quickly, before he can read in Merlin’s eyes how full his heart is.

-

They ride out a few days later. The official story is that Arthur is going on a hunt, but Merlin has seen Gwaine in the morning after a night at the tavern. Privately, Merlin doubts the knights will be able to sit upright on their saddles, let alone track down as much as a rabbit.

The knights are in good spirits as Gwaine leads them through the forest, teasing Gwaine about his previous exploits and placing bets on what type of drunk Percival is.

It’s late afternoon by the time they arrive at the tavern, so they agree to meet in a couple of hours. Merlin leaves the knights to bicker about whose sharing a room with who, and follows Arthur up the stairs. He’s pretty certain that Gwaine wants to share with Percival, but is too emotionally inept to say so.

Their room at the tavern is small, but quaint. It’s well-furnished, a large, sturdy bed and a wide fireplace. Merlin kicks off his shoes, falling back onto the soft blankets. “Gwaine said he’d been here before - oof!”

He laughs as Arthur climbs on top of him. Their mouths meet, and it starts out soft and sweet, before Merlin rocks upwards and eagerly opens his mouth for more. Arthur’s calloused hands cup his face, and Merlin whines. He fists his hands in Arthur’s shirt, shivers as he runs his hands over the hot skin of his back.

The kiss turns a little bit dirty, open mouthed and wet, lips swollen and both of them panting. When they pull apart, they both just stare at each other for a moment, catching their breath.

Arthur clears his throat. “No talking about other men when we’re in bed.”

“What about women?” Merlin asks cheekily. He squeals when Arthur leans down and nips his jaw. “Fine, no women either!”

Arthur eyes him thoughtfully. His eyes are dark and his lips are berry red. “Do you favour men and women?”

Merlin hums. “I don’t have a lot of experience with either, but yes. I’ve liked men before, but I’ve also liked women. What about you?”

Arthur nods. “I’ve been with both. I just realised I didn’t know about your preferences. I’ve never seen you with anyone.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “It’s not as though people were lining up to date King Arthur’s weirdo manservant.”

“More fool them,” Arthur murmurs. He sits up, still straddling Merlin’s waist, and observes Merlin’s in a way that makes his mouth dry. “Merlin. You’ve said before you don’t have a lot of experience.”

Merlin swallows. “I’m not a complete innocent. I’ve had fumbles before, but I’ve never gone - the whole way.”

He’s blushing by the end of it. If Arthur asks him to specify, he’s going to push him off him and shout that he’s never had a cock up his arse. He can feel his stomach twist, the beginning uneasiness that precedes burning embarrassment.

Arthur doesn’t ask anything though. He just traces the jut of Merlin’s collarbone with one hand. “Merlin, please don’t look so worried. I only wanted to tell you that we can stop whenever you want. If there is something you don’t like, or you’re not ready for, then you can tell me.”

“Oh.” Merlin smiles up at him, relaxing somewhat. “I will. Tell you, I mean. And you have to do the same.”

“I will,” Arthur promises. “Miscommunication never works out well for us,” he adds drily, and Merlin giggles.

Arthur, Merlin is pleased to note, had taken his boots off before climbing all over him. They’d both shed their heavy cloaks, leaving them in just their loose shirts.

The hand that had been tracing Merlin’s cheek moves lower. Merlin’s breath hitches as Arthur drags his fingers over Merlin’s chest, tortuously slow. His hand brushes Merlin’s nipple, already hard and visible through his shirt, and Merlin inhales quietly.

Arthur smiles, satisfied, and heat rushes to Merlin’s stomach. His hand stops just above Merlin’s waist, eyes flicking to Merlin’s. It’s clear how hard he is, how hard they both are, and Merlin _wants_.

He arches his back like a cat, pushing up into Arthur’s hand, Arthur’s hand, which nearly spans Merlin’s entire waist, gods. “Arthur, please, I - “

“Merlin, I, I want,” Arthur murmurs, ducking down to and kissing Merlin’s neck. His teeth scrape the sensitive skin beneath Merlin’s jaw, sucking and biting and mouthing at that spot, until Merlin is dizzy and writhing below him. “Merlin, you’re so gorgeous, I - “

“Please touch me,” Merlin gasps, closing his eyes at the mix of pain and pleasure that floods him, the skin beneath his jaw throbbing. “Arthur, I want you to touch me, please - “

Arthur’s voice sounds wrecked when he speaks, but he’s smirking down at Merlin with dark, hungry eyes. “Touch you how, sweetheart? With my hand?”

At the word hand, he palms roughly at the front of Merlin’s trousers, just once, and Merlin moans. “Or with my mouth?”

Merlin has never felt so turned on in his life. “Arthur, I can’t, I need - “

Arthur’s hand slides to Merlin’s upper thigh, the way it did that day in Arthur’s chambers. “Communication, Merlin. We talked about how important this was - “

“You are such a bastard,” Merlin snaps, and Arthur laughs. “Your hand, Arthur, _please_.”

“Whatever you want, sweetheart,” Arthur smirks, and Merlin would smack him for being so smug, if Arthur didn’t finally bloody move.

He unlaces the ties of Merlin’s trousers with deft fingers, sliding them down over Merlin’s hips. And then Arthur’s hand is wrapping around Merlin’s cock, and Merlin’s hips buck with how good it feels.

Arthur’s grip is tight, and he moves his hand in agonisingly slow strokes, up and down. At the same time, he leans up and captures Merlin’s mouth, sucks Merlin’s bottom lip into his mouth.

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, eyes closed as heat rocks through him. Arthur is speeding up incrementally, dragging this out deliberately, teasing Merlin just enough to bring him to the edge, but not carrying him over. At one point, his thumb swipes over the sensitive head of Merlin’s cock, and he almost whites out. “Arthur, stop - stop - “

“Stop what?” Arthur murmurs against his mouth. “Stop touching you?”

Arthur, because he is a terrible person, lets go of Merlin’s cock all at once. Cool air sweeps over his skin, sensitive and aching, and Merlin bites down on his lip to stop him coming from that alone. “No! That’s not what I meant!”

Arthur’s own cheeks are flushed, his mouth slick and swollen. There’s a noticeable bulge in his own trousers, one that has Merlin’s mind skittering with thoughts of other things they could do.

Merlin hasn’t even touched Arthur yet, but Arthur’s more than affected by this, and that, that is intoxicating in its own right.

“If you don’t touch me,” Merlin manages, voice rough. “I’m going to touch myself.”

His heart is pounding with his own boldness, but he sets his jaw and slides one hand under his shirt. He’s barely brushed his swollen nipples, before Arthur is on him again. This time his rhythm is ruthless, hand working over his length in fast, deft strokes.

It doesn’t take long after that for Merlin to come, and when he does his eyes squeeze shut, lost in white hot pleasure. He cries out, spilling over Arthur’s hand as his whole body jolts.

“Merlin,” Arthur breathes. He nuzzles into Merlin’s neck, one hand in Merlin’s hair. Merlin is still trembling, still trying to breathe, and something tugs in his stomach, involuntarily. Arthur makes a noise of surprise, drawing back and laughing softly. “Was that you?”

Merlin doesn’t answer. There are still aftershocks of pleasure fluttering down his spine. He pushes Arthur off him weakly, before collapsing back against the pillows, boneless.

Arthur curls up beside him, wrapping a gentle hand around Merlin’s bicep. After a moment, he presses a soft kiss to Merlin’s hair.

Merlin takes a deep breath. Then he takes another one, before he finally looks over at Arthur. “I. That was. Good.”

He winces at the clumsy words that leave his mouth, but Arthur doesn’t seem to notice. He’s watching Merlin with a soft, sea blue gaze.

Merlin stretches, feeling like a cat that spent a day in the sun. Satisfied and languid.

“You’re gorgeous,” Arthur mumbles absently, and Merlin has gathered enough of himself to blush. “And _loud_.”

Merlin immediately feels far less relaxed. “Arthur!”

Arthur just bares white teeth. “I liked it.”

“Oh my god,” Merlin mutters, trying to ignore the interested twitch his cock gives. “I can’t - what did you mean when you asked if that was me?”

Arthur makes a face; it looks suspiciously like he’s trying not to laugh. “It’s just, normally there’s more evidence.”

He gestures towards the bed, where the sheets - and Arthur’s hand - are conspicuously spotless. His cock is still hanging out, and Merlin feels a sudden pique of embarrassment, even though it’s a bit too late for that now given Arthur’s seen it up close.

Hastily, Merlin tucks himself away, and makes a mental note to murder his magic later. “I didn’t - my magic it’s - honestly, this is the most embarrassing thing my magic has ever done.”

He worries Arthur will say something about his not very subtle covering himself up, but he doesn’t. Arthur just waits until he’s finished, then wraps an arm around Merlin’s waist.

“I’m glad you enjoyed yourself,” Arthur murmurs, hot breath fanning over Merlin’s ear.

“You called me sweetheart,” Merlin blurts, because he keeps replaying it in his head, the rasp of Arthur’s voice around the endearment. “More than once.”

It’s Arthur’s turn to turn pink. “I - yes. I didn’t - I can stop - “

“I liked it,” Merlin says quickly.

Arthur inhales. “Oh. Well. Good.”

Merlin turns over onto his side, nestling into the pillow. He realises something, and gestures awkwardly. “I can - did you - “

Arthur shakes his head. “It’s fine.”

Merlin swallows. “But I got to - “

“I wanted to,” Arthur answers easily, and Merlin feels warm all over. “Besides, you know Gwaine will be breaking the door down soon. Personally, I’m not one for an audience, but if you - “

“Shut up,” Merlin orders, shoving Arthur when he laughs. “You’re the one who said no talking about Gwaine in bed!”

“I did,” Arthur admits. “You can’t blame a man for being cautious, especially with your relationship history - “

“Gwaine and I were never courting!” Merlin howls, slapping Arthur’s chest. “You are such an ass!”

“I’m sorry!” Arthur laughs, holding his hands up in appeasement. “I did promise no more teasing, I’ll stop.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “You owe me at least two drinks tonight.”

“Okay.”

“And you better bully Gwaine twice as hard.”

“No mentioning Gwaine in bed, Merlin!” Arthur yells, and rolls on top of him again.

-

Merlin has seen the taverns Gwaine frequents, but, thankfully, this appears to be one of the nicer ones. It’s bustling already as they make their way to a table, the air filled with laughter and glasses clinking.

No one would recognise them here, not with half the patrons tipsy already, and he and the knights dressed in plain clothes. There’s something exciting about that, something that sends a thrill down Merlin’s spine at the thought that, for one night, he can be totally anonymous.

Gwaine has an inexplicable way of securing the best table in the house, weaving their way through the crowd to a prime spot. There’s even a small band of musicians, a handful of lute players and a bard who fancies himself far too much.

Leon looks around approvingly. “I have to say, Gwaine, this has exceeded my expectations.”

“And mine,” Arthur agrees. “Though I’ll admit, they weren’t very high to begin with.”

Percival straddles the bench, thumping Gwaine on the back. “It’s not a complete shithole.”

“Yes, you’re all hilarious,” Gwaine glowers. “For that, Arthur, you can get the first round.”

“Fine,” Arthur sighs. “I know what all you lot will want, anyway. Merlin, what about you?”

Merlin crosses his arms. “I hate ale.”

Arthur leans against the table. “Then I won’t get you an ale.”

“Or mead.”

“Or mead.”

Arthur nudges Merlin’s boot with his. Merlin sighs and looks up at Arthur through his lashes. “I like berries.”

He expects Arthur to make a comment about wanting a girly drink, but Arthur just ruffles his hair. “I’ll see what I can do. Leon, come help me carry it all, will you?”

Arthur and Leon make their way to the bar, jostling each other playfully as Leon whispers something in Arthur’s ear. It leaves Merlin sitting opposite Percival and Gwaine, who he quickly realises are playing footsie under the table. Clearly Merlin isn’t the only one taking advantage of the anonymity.

“Are you two sharing a room?” Merlin asks innocently,

Percival and Gwaine jump apart. There’s a large thump and the table moves an inch, as though someone has banged their knee into it.

“Why - why do you ask?” Gwaine asks, a little too loudly.

Merlin adopts a worried expression. “I just wondered if Leon was on his own, is all. I wouldn’t want anything to happen to him.”

Percival relaxes a little. “Oh. Yes, he is. But don’t worry, he’s right next door.”

“Ah, that’s good,” Merlin says. “Then he’ll be able to yell if he needs anything. Thin walls, this tavern.”

Percival, who has known Merlin for the shortest amount of time out of all the knights, smiles at Merlin for being so concerned for their friend’s well-being.

Gwaine, who has known Merlin for far longer, looks ready to throttle him for making thinly veiled innuendos and being a general shit stirrer.

Thankfully, Arthur and Leon return before Gwaine can actually get his hands around Merlin’s throat. “Here we are! Gwaine, you can cough up for the next one.”

Leon and Arthur slam the drinks down onto the table, some of it slopping over onto the wood. Arthur settles in beside Merlin, pushing a tankard towards him. “Here. I’m hoping you’ll like this.”

Merlin takes a long sip and finds that he does. It’s some kind of fruit cider, sweet on his tongue. “It’s good! Thank you, Arthur.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Arthur chides. He slings an arm around the back of Merlin’s chair. “I like to think I know you well enough by now.”

“As do I,” Merlin agrees softly, and they share a smile.

“Are you two going to make doe eyes at each other all night?” Gwaine asks, taking a sip of his drink.

“I don’t know, are you going to stop feeling up Percival’s thigh under the table?” Arthur returns flatly, and Gwaine chokes on his drink. Merlin snorts with laughter, and Arthur shoots him a look, as if to say: look, I’m winding Gwaine up like I promised.

“Oh good, is it time to rag on Gwaine?” Leon asks brightly, and the table bursts into laughter.

“You’re all terrible friends,” Gwaine announces, rising from the table. “I’m off to get another round. I’ll need it if I’m to deal with you asses!”

Merlin doesn’t mean to get drunk. He honestly doesn’t, but somehow one cider turns into two, turns into four. Gwaine brings back a round of five truly disgusting drinks in tiny glasses, which he insists they have to down as one.

The atmosphere is lively, cheerful. Merlin feels safe, Arthur’s arm snug around him, Leon pressed in on his other side. Arthur becomes looser with each round, cheeks flushed. He is, as Arthur always has been, buoyed by the good humour and high spirits of his friends around him.

After a few hours, Merlin finds himself in that hazy, happy place, where he's more than a little tipsy, but not yet sick as a dog. The band plays a raucous jig, which Merlin has to dance to, only he can’t find Arthur, so he drags Gwaine up with him instead. Gwaine doesn’t seem to mind, laughing and spinning Merlin around in a circle.

Once Merlin stumbles back to their table, he’s delighted to see Arthur is back. “Arthur! I thought I’d lost you!”

He means to throw himself at Arthur for a hug, but his feet aren’t working properly. He falls over his chair, but somehow manages to land in Arthur’s lap, so. Merlin is clearly _winning_.

“Arthur!” Merlin yells. “You’re here!”

Arthur grabs his hips, cuddling Merlin close. “Leon and I got more drinks!”

“Don’t tell him that - “ someone groans, but Merlin has already twisted in Arthur’s lap, grabbed a glass, and downed it.

Arthur’s lap is very comfy. Maybe he could sit in it all the time, Merlin thinks absently. He turns to tell Arthur his brilliant idea, but promptly forgets when he sees Arthur’s face. Arthur has a very handsome face.

“We know, Merlin,” Percival sighs. He’s the only one still mostly sober, having switched to water an hour ago. “You’ve said so. Three times.”

Merlin blinks at him. “Can you read minds?”

Percival shakes his head, which makes Merlin’s head feel dizzy. “No, Merlin, you said that out loud.”

“Oh.” Maybe Merlin is drunker than he realised. “I knewed - knew, I knew someone who could do that.”

Arthur tugs at Merlin’s tunic. “Pay attention to me, Merlin.”

“Sorry,” Merlin chirps, kissing him quickly. “Do you want to dance?”

“Yes!” Arthur says loudly.

“No,” Percival interrupts desperately. “No more dancing, Merlin.”

Merlin glares at him. “Don’t tell me what to do.”

“Christ,” Gwaine mutters, from where he’s sprawled in his seat. “Merlin, no more dancing for you. You keep - you’re going to start a fight!”

Merlin turns his glare to Gwaine. “That man shouldn’t have shoved me!”

“What man?” Leon asks. Gwaine waves his arm drunkenly, and Leon gasps. “Merlin, he’s three times your size!”

“He’s also looking at us,” Gwaine notes, his voice slurred.

Arthur’s arms tighten around Merlin’s waist. “Oi, mate - “

“Arthur!” Percival hisses. “Right, that’s it. Upstairs, all of you.”

Gwaine pouts. “I’m still drinking!”

“You can take your drinks,” Leon promises. He’s doing a good job of acting boring, but his eyes are shiny and he’s swaying. “Come on, Arthur.”

Merlin feels a bit sick when he gets to his feet. He thinks some more berry cider might help, so he grabs a tankard to take with him.

Merlin will never know how they make it up the tavern stairs without breaking their necks. He remembers only parts of the journey. Arthur’s hand clamped in his, dropping his tankard and frowning at the loud clang it made against the floor, trying to sneak back downstairs with Arthur and Percival swearing.

Merlin blinks and somehow they’re outside their rooms. Leon is saying something to Arthur. Merlin squints at them both, feeling a little like his head is underwater.

“Arthur.” Leon is gripping Arthur’s shoulders tightly. “You are. You are my best friend.”

Merlin awes. Leon looks immediately crestfallen. “Sorry, Merlin.”

“ ‘s okay,” Merlin slurs. “You can be Arthur’s best - best friend. I’m his boyfriend, so. It’s. It’s all good.”

Leon beams at him. Arthur shakes Leon’s shoulder a bit too aggressively. “You’re my best friend too.”

Leon tugs Arthur into a hug. Merlin is still surgically attached to Arthur’s hand, so he gets pulled in too. That’s nice. Leon is so tall.

Percival herds then all into their rooms, Gwaine already snoring on his shoulder. Merlin tells Percival how much he likes him, and laughs when he blushes.

They stumble into their room. As soon as the door closes behind them, the world does that awful jolt when you’re half drunk and surrounded by darkness.

Merlin holds his breath as the world eventually rights itself, even if the silence is buzzing like static in his ears.

“Bed,” Arthur mutters, dragging Merlin forward determinedly.

There’s no lights, and Merlin has forgotten he’s a sorcerer, so they fumble blindly in the dark. Somehow they manage to get off most of their clothes and collapse onto the mattress.

Merlin is suddenly overcome with tiredness. “That was. I had a nice. A nice time tonight.”

Arthur doesn’t reply. Merlin tries to see in the dark, and realises Arthur is fast asleep, sprawled onto his back.

Merlin pats Arthur once on the head, then promptly does the same.

-

Merlin wakes up far too early for someone who spent half the night destroying his liver.

The moment his eyes open, he’s hit with the realisation something has crawled into his mouth and died a slow, disgusting death.

His head is pounding, a tight pain behind his eyes. When he manages to open his eyes a sliver, he realises he can only have slept for five hours at the most. Why is he awake?

“Ugh,” Merlin groans.

The taste in his mouth will kill him, so Merlin rolls over and drags himself from the bed. He must be more hungover than he thought, because he walks straight into a chair. “Shit!”

There’s a noise from the bed. Merlin glances over, startled, only to realise it wasn’t the bed, it was Arthur. Oh yeah.

He limps to the water jug on the side. It’s tepid by now, but he downs half of it anyway. There’s a sprig of mint beside it, which Merlin chews absently.

The Arthur sized lump in the bed doesn’t move. If Merlin looks closely, he can just make out a tuft of blonde hair. Like a little plant.

Gods, how much did Merlin drink? His stomach suddenly clenches uncomfortably, and Merlin groans. He breathes through his nose, wondering if he’ll be sick. He isn’t though, but he does feel nauseous.

Merlin limps back to bed. Now he’s more conscious, he can appreciate Arthur’s body heat.

“Arthur,” Merlin whines. Arthur doesn’t stir. “I feel sick.”

Arthur has his face turned into the pillow, so his voice is muffled when he speaks. “Are you going to be sick?”

“No.” Arthur shed his shirt last night. His back is a golden expanse of muscles. He has a constellation of freckles on his left shoulder. “But my stomach hurts.”

Arthur shifts, turning on his side. He doesn’t even open his eyes, pulling Merlin’s back against his front, curling up against Merlin from behind.

Merlin can feel his eyes drift shut as Arthur buries his face in Merlin’s hair.

“Try to get some sleep, okay?” Arthur murmurs. “If you’re going to be sick, wake me up right away.”

“Okay.”

Arthur’s hand is rubbing soft circles over his ribs. It’s nice. Merlin is lulled back to sleep by Arthur’s warmth and the steady sound of him breathing.

A few hours later, Leon enters the room. Merlin is feeling vaguely more human, and he lifts his head at the sound of the door clicking open. “Leon?”

“Sorry,” Leon whispers. He hovers by the door awkwardly. “The people in the room beside me are being very - loud.”

Merlin yawns. Leon is pale as a ghost and his curls are sticking up in every direction. “You can stay in here, if you like.”

Leon mutters something that sounds like a prayer. He curls up in the large armchair, smiling weakly when Merlin carefully passes him a blanket without jostling Arthur.

Arthur doesn’t stir anyway, just shifts closer to him. Leon catches Merlin’s bemused stare. “He’s always like that.”

“He is?”

Leon yawns, tugging the blanket over him. “Yes. And he won’t have a hangover when he wakes up either.”

“Ass,” Merlin mutters fondly, and Leon snorts quietly.

He’s almost fallen back to sleep, when Leon mumbles something. Merlin squints at him sleepily. “What?”

Leon rubs his eyes, resting his cheek on the arm of the chair. He looks half asleep himself, his words honest in a way that’s only possible with early morning light and tired thoughts. “I’m glad you found each other.”

Merlin smiles at him and closes his eyes. “So am I.”

-

It’s a very pitiful party that returns to Camelot that afternoon. As predicted, there is no hunting. They catch absolutely nothing, not that anyone even attempts to. Gwaine looks like he’ll keel over if he so much as touches his crossbow.

Still, whilst they may smell terrible, and whilst an unnamed person (Gwaine) may vomit behind a tree, it’s one of the best weekends of Merlin’s life.

He is desperate for his own bed, though. The group disperses pretty quickly once they arrive in Camelot, someone inevitably yawning and setting off all the others. Merlin trips over his feet three times on his way to Gaius’ chambers, which is a new record.

Gaius isn’t there, which is probably for the best. Merlin has just enough foresight to take off his boots, before he collapses onto his mattress.

Merlin sleeps for a good few hours, feeling a lot more refreshed once he wakes up. A good scrub of his face with some cold water, and Merlin almost qualifies as a person again. He can hear Gaius clattering around, and rolls out of bed.

Gaius is ladling soup into a bowl when Merlin emerges, and Merlin groans at the smell. “Gaius, have I ever told you you’re the best?”

“I see you had a good night with Arthur and the knights,” Gaius says archly. He places a steaming bowl in front of Merlin, squeezing his shoulder. “Do I want to know what you all got up to?”

“Probably not.” Merlin inhales some of his soup. He’s starving. “But I didn’t reveal my magic to anyone new.”

“Ah, you’re learning,” Gaius returns. He smiles, but it doesn’t quite meet his eyes.

Merlin peers at him. Gaius is fidgeting in his seat. Merlin sips his soup more slowly and glances around the room. There are a handful of papers that look as though they’ve been disturbed. A muddy boot print stains the floor, but Merlin had taken his shoes off and Gaius is meticulous about these things.

Merlin frowns. “Has someone been in here?”

Gaius pauses. “No. Why would you think that?”

Merlin gestures around them. “Some of your things are disturbed, Gaius, did you - did you have a visitor?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Gaius says stiffly. “Have you washed yet? You smell like the inside of a barrel.”

Merlin stares at him. “Oh my god, you did have a visitor, didn’t you!”

Gaius ignores him. Merlin isn’t very good at being ignored. “Gaius, it’s fine with me if you invite friends over - “

“Wash,” Gaius orders firmly, leaving no room for argument. “Now, Merlin.”

Merlin is too tired to argue properly anyway. He does wash, a little reluctantly, and eats a hunk of bread, before he goes back to sleep.

When he wakes for the second time, it’s to the sound of a hushed argument. Blearily, Merlin sits up and cranes his ear towards the door.

The shadows in his chamber tell him it’s early morning. Merlin can just make out a male voice, one he doesn’t recognise, catching the end of his sentence.

“ - the King has returned from his hunt, Gaius. Now is the time to get the second part of the triskelion!”

When Gaius replies, his tone is colder than Merlin has ever heard it. “I’ve already told you, Julius. I will not help you with this.”

There’s a thump, like someone has slammed their hand down on a table. “We both know there is a dragon egg hidden in that tomb.”

Merlin clasps a hand over his mouth. On desperate, light feet, he scurries to the door and peers from a gap in the wood. From here, he can see Gaius talking to another man - Julius, Gaius called him.

“Without the missing part of the triskelion, I cannot open the tomb,” Julius continues. “I know you could get me into the vaults. Now the King has returned, surely he must have the keys - “

  
“I want no part in this,” Gaius grumbles. “The dragon egg has been hidden for hundreds of years, it should remain that way.”

“You would let this noble breed die - “

“I would not steal from my King,” Gaius snaps. “Arthur may not be his father, but he won’t suddenly allow dragons to freely roam Camelot once more!”

Juluis’ face darkens, eyes narrowing. “Then I’ll find a way to get the triskelion myself,” he spits, and storms out the room.

Merlin barely waits for the door to close before he’s running down the steps. “Who was that?”

Gaius looks at him wearily. “An old pupil. Julius Borden.”

“What did he mean about a dragon egg?” Merlin demands. “Was that true? There’s one hidden in that tomb? And the key to that tomb is hidden within Camelot’s vaults?”

“Yes, it is,” Gaius says quietly. “And that is where it should stay, Merlin.”

Merlin stares at him. “How can you say that? If we could find the egg, if we could hatch it - we could save the dragons! Kilgarah would no longer be the last of his kind!”

“The further that egg is from Borden, the safer it will be.” Gaius shakes his head. “He is not to be trusted. I dread to think what he plans for the egg - “

“I’m not Borden!” Merlin snaps. “I would never harm the egg, I could - “

“No, Merlin,” Gaius frowns. “I wouldn’t help Borden down this path, I won’t help you. The egg is best left alone. It’s late, we should all be in bed.”

Rage fills Merlin, squeezes his chest until he can’t speak. He turns on his heel, running to his room and slamming the door behind him.

-

Merlin’s mood has only darkened the next morning. He hadn’t slept well, had dreamt odd, murky dreams, of fire and darkness and anger. When he wakes, his eyes feel gritty, the tired ache in his bones doing nothing to quell his irritation.

By the time Merlin has sat down for breakfast, he is wound tighter than a rattlesnake.

Gaius takes one look at him and winces. “Merlin - “

“I’m telling Arthur about the dragon egg.”

Gaius’ eyes widen. “Merlin!”

“Borden is going to hunt down that egg one way or another! I have a duty to stop him!”

Gaius relaxes a little. “Well, I suppose warning Arthur of Borden’s plan would - “

“I’m stopping Borden,” Merlin interrupts. “And then I’m going after the egg myself.”

“Merlin!”

“I can’t let the egg stay hidden away forever! I can’t let it rot in that tomb - “

“It’s not rotting!” Gwaine snaps. “It’s perfectly safe - “

“It’s not alive!” Merlin’s heartbeat is thundering in his ears. “It’s not free! This could bring the dragons back!”

“Merlin, now is not - “

All the emotions in Merlin’s chest explode at once, detonating like a grenade. “What’s the point of being a Dragon Lord if I can’t save it? What’s the point of my magic at all, if I don’t do this?”

Gaius inhales sharply. “Merlin - “

“What’s the point of all this?” Merlin shouts. “What’s the point of - what’s the point of _me_ \- “

His voice catches, a sudden, ragged sound. Merlin is overcome, words ripped from his throat and dying on his tongue. In the ensuing silence, Merlin is stunned to realise his entire body is trembling.

Gaius is very pale. He reaches out a hand, but Merlin snatches his own hand away. Gaius’ face falls, and Merlin feels shame kick in his chest.

“Merlin,” Gaius says quietly. “I know Arthur knows about your magic. I meant it when I said he isn’t Uther. But this - after what Kilgarah did to Camelot. I don’t - I don’t know how he’ll react.”

“I don’t care what Arthur thinks.” It’s a lie, the worst Merlin’s ever told. The falseness of it coats Merlin’s throat like poison. “I don’t care. He can’t stop me either, I have to do this.”

“Merlin, please - “

Merlin can’t stay here, can’t stay in this room, not with Gaius’ worried, tired eyes watching him. Not when he already feels like dirt for shouting at him. You shouted at _Gaius_, a nasty voice in his head reminds him, and Merlin has to go.

He all but runs from the room, Gaius calling after him.

Merlin doesn’t stop, rounds the corners of the corridors blindly. His eyes are stinging. He can’t stop now, paces forward determinedly. If he stops, he’ll have to think. Think about Gaius, think about the egg, think about the last time he really used his powers as a Dragon Lord, why they were needed, why his father couldn’t -

Merlin bursts through the doors to Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur looks up in alarm. “Merlin! What is it?”

“There’s a man in Camelot,” Merlin spits. “He wants the key to the tomb of Ashkanar. It holds a - “

“Dragon egg.” Arthur has turned pale. “My father used to tell me the stories.”

“I’m going to find the key,” Merlin announces. “And I’m going to set the dragon egg free.”

There is a long silence.

Merlin stands there, fists clenched, as the seconds tick by. He’s ticking too; Merlin is the grenade now, building and building and ready to self destruct all on his own.

“I don’t.” Arthur stares at him, shock written over his face. “I don’t understand. What - what do you mean?”

“It was me who set the Great Dragon free,” Merlin says, because he can’t stop this now. “It was me who set him free, and me who stopped him - “

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaims. He stands, face ashen. “I don’t understand why you’re saying these things.”

Something hot spills down Merlin’s cheek.

“I _told_ you,” Merlin says suddenly, accusingly, though it’s not Arthur he’s accusing. “I told you this is - this is what happens when you lie. It’s never just one.”

Arthur takes a cautious step forward, as though he’s approaching a wounded animal. Merlin certainly feels like one. Wounded and cornered. Trapped, in the thorns of the past. Drawing blood at each attempt to break free.

“Merlin.” Arthur lifts his hands slowly. “You’re upset. I don’t know what this is about, but we can talk this through.”

Merlin takes a step back. He won’t need to self destruct if Arthur touches him. He’ll shatter then and there.

Arthur stops in his tracks, allowing Merlin to inch towards the door. His eyes track the movement, but he doesn’t move.

“Merlin,” Arthur begins quietly. Merlin already knows what he’s going to ask. This is it, that nasty part of him whispers. This is the crime he can’t waiver; you let the dragon loose, and he won’t forgive that.

Only, clearly Merlin doesn’t know Arthur as well as he thought, because Arthur looks him straight in the eye, and asks, “Was Balinor your father?”

Merlin goes very still.

Trust Arthur to cut to the very heart of the matter, slice right down to the quip. All the guilt, the shame, the fury, everything Merlin had desperately been using as a smokescreen, dissipates instantly in the face of Arthur’s words.

Arthur is saying something, mouth drawn into a sorrowful bow. “Oh, Merlin. I’m so sorry - “

Merlin does what he does best, and flees.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fcking nothing is worse than when you’re hungover and you’re not going to be sick, but like. You probably could be. So you just lie there and try not to die. Probably a lot nicer to have a hangover and Arthur pendragon to cuddle you tho 
> 
> a/n - initially, i was just going to have merlin and arthur argue over the dragon egg, but when i was writing the scene it kinda gained a life of it's own. the episode with the dragon egg is one of my favourite, because merlin is so raw. he's fierce and frightened and protective. that scene with borden in the end always has me in awe.
> 
> this is just my take on it, obviously in this merlin has a lot of emotional things happen already, he has the added pressure of arthur knowing now, and also??? you can't tell me the topic of dragons isn't pretty sensitive for merlin, for a number of reasons, but not least because it's the only thing that really links him to his father? and is the one gift he got from him 
> 
> anyway, on a side side note - nothing is funnier to me than the knights taking arthur and merlin on a night out, only to realise with dawning horror that they're actually the worse TM now they've got their shit together. 
> 
> as ever, comments are so so appreciated it and would like to hear your thoughts on this one !!


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a lot of this chapter (surprise) is based on the episode in season 4 'aithusa' - the plot is pretty radically different tho, given these idiots have learnt to communicate. anyway I've tried really hard not to copy the dialogue from the episode, because i personally hate that, but there might be a few similarities. but i've tried my best to change it up!
> 
> it's been a hard week and my anxiety is playing up. it's officially 'relive embarrassing events that happened four years ago and no one cares about anyway' hours
> 
> anyway, my point is i appreciate all the comments on this and they really do brighten my day when i'm feeling shit, so thank you sm

Merlin runs all the way back to Gaius’ chambers.

It’s so stupid. Merlin’s so stupid, because that’s where he came from, but he doesn’t - he doesn’t have anywhere else to go.

His eyes are burning as he sweeps past Gaius and into his room. The mattress creaks as he throws himself down on it, face first, head buried in his arms.

Shame rises in Merlin’s throat when he thinks about how he's acted. He’d been baiting Arthur without even meaning to, because Arthur being angry, Arthur knowing the truth, would have hurt less than letting Arthur close enough to work out what’s really going on.

Arthur had figured it out anyway.

Merlin doesn’t think about Balinor a lot. It’s- better not to. He didn’t know him, never got the chance. If he pushes it to the back of his mind, shoves it all down, he can pretend that makes it hurt less. That losing someone you never knew is less painful than losing someone you did, even if it’s not true.

It doesn’t hurt less, obviously. It just hurts in a different way, creates a whole different chasm in your chest.

Merlin is sick of loss. He knew Will for years and he lost him. He knew Freya for a handful of precious days, and he lost her. He didn’t know Balinor at all and it’s - it’s not fair, that it aches regardless. He doesn’t want to feel like this.

There’s the sound of footsteps, then the bed dips as Gaius sits down beside him. He doesn’t say anything at first, just places a gentle hand on Merlin’s back.

Merlin feels sick with guilt. “I’m sorry.”

Gaius hums soothingly. “What are you sorry for?”

Merlin swallows. “I shouted at you.”

Gaius pats his shoulder. “It is I who should be sorry.”

Merlin lifts his head from his pillow. “You didn’t do anything.”

Gwaine shakes his head. “I should have realised what this meant to you. What - memories it might bring back.”

Merlin’s stomach clenches. He sits up slowly. He can’t meet Gaius’ eyes yet.

“I know this must be very difficult for you,” Gaius says carefully. “The news of the dragon egg has come as quite a shock, to all of us.”

Merlin rubs at his eyes. “I hadn’t - I didn’t forget I was a Dragon Lord. I just don’t like to think about it.”

Gaius nudges him gently. “Why is that?”

Merlin twists his hands together in his lap. “Because if I think about that, I have to think about him. About how I got these powers in the first place.” He clears his throat. “It’s easier to just - push it all down.”

Gaius hesitates. “Merlin, I worry that you’re pushing down a great many things.”

Merlin doesn’t answer. He worries about that too.

“And I’m not chastising you for it,” Gaius says softly. “It’s an understandable response to an ordeal that was frightening, or upsetting. Gods know, I’ve vowed to never think again on events that happened twenty years ago. But even if you ignore them, they still remain in your mind. The past has a funny way of rearing its head. And it can be quite a shock when it does.”

Merlin digs his nails into his palms. “When I heard about Borden’s plans for the egg, I was so angry. Dragons they - it’s all I have left. The only thing that links me to him. If I don’t do this, if they die out, it’ll - it’ll be like he never existed in the first place.”

Tears prickle in his eyes, and he squeezes them tightly shut for a moment. “He didn’t exist for the first eighteen years of my life, I can’t - I can’t lose this too.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius says sadly. Merlin immediately regrets saying anything. Now he’s just upset Gaius even more. The urge to cram all those words back into his mouth is overwhelming. “You’ve been through so much recently. To have this heaped on top of you, as well - “

“And I’ve ruined it with Arthur,” Merlin blurts. “I told him it was me who set the Great Dragon free. I told him because it would distract him, because then he’d get angry and shout and wouldn’t ask questions.” He shakes his head, feeling wretched. “That’s so shit, isn’t it? It’s such a shit thing to do.”

Gaius wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulder, and he turns into it like a small child needing reassurance. There’s a pang in his chest that accompanies the sudden thought he misses his mother.

“Why do you think you ruined things with Arthur?”

Merlin wipes his eyes with his sleeve. “Well, he’s never going to forgive me now, is he? Not just for releasing Kilgarah, which is bad enough, but because I acted awfully and tried to pick a fight.”

“How did Arthur react when you told him?”

Merlin lets out a breath. “He saw right through it. I don’t know why I expected anything less. Arthur asked me outright if Balinor was my father.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully. “Arthur has always been quick witted. And what did he do once that happened?”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t know. I couldn’t bear to stay for a minute more.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius says for a second time. “I wish you didn’t have so much on your shoulders.”

“So do I,” Merlin mumbles, and Gaius chuckles. Merlin doesn’t feel at all better, but at least he doesn’t feel any worse. “What do you think Borden will do to the egg?”

Gaius’ tone is grim. “I’m not sure. Sell it, I imagine, to the highest bidder. And the people who are in the business of buying dragon eggs will not be savoury characters.”

Merlin shudders. “That’s awful. Could that really happen? He’d trade the egg for a handful of gold?”

“There have always been black markets for magical artefacts,” Gaius says gravely. “And a dragon egg would go for quite a price. I dread to think what some sorcerers would use it for.”

Merlin feels sick. “I told Arthur I was going to see the egg free.”

“It may take Arthur some time to come to terms with that,” Gaius says slowly. “Merlin, you have to remember that Arthur’s only experience of a dragon was Kilgarah burning his kingdom and his people to the ground. Arthur is far more accepting of the old ways, and he’d never harm you, but he may need some time to process all this.”

“I know,” Merlin agrees softly. “I can’t wrap my head around it either. I think that’s why I reacted so badly. I’m just so - tired.” His throat feels tight. “Why does everything have to happen at once?”

“Perhaps, when this business with the dragon egg is over, you could spend some time away from the castle,” Gaius suggests. “You could visit your mother.”

Merlin hadn’t thought of that. His approach has always been to shove everything down, bury it deep and carry on. That insidious cycle of telling yourself you just have to make it through this part, only there’s always something else. It hadn’t occurred to Merlin he could - take a break.

“I couldn’t do that,” Merlin says uncertainly. “I’m needed here. Besides, things are different now. Good. I shouldn’t be making such a fuss. And I had a day away from the castle, Arthur and I went to that festival.”

“Merlin, there is no right or wrong amount of fuss to make,” Gaius says firmly. “You’ve waited so long for Arthur to know about your magic, I’m not surprised how overwhelmed you feel now the day is finally here. This latest development with the dragon egg has only added to those feelings.”

It had never occurred to Merlin that he could just take a break. Even for a few days. Probably something to do with being told repeatedly that his entire future has been predestined, he thinks bitterly.

“You and the knights arranged a trip away for Arthur, didn’t you?” Gaius smiles. “And you didn’t think he was making a fuss. Or that he didn’t deserve one.”

Merlin fidgets. “No. I hadn’t - I hadn’t thought of it like that.”

“Perhaps it’s worth considering.” Gaius squeezes his shoulder. “To be clear, I am by no means suggesting a visit to Ealdor will be a cure all. Worries and sadness are never solved so easily. But some time away from Camelot with your family, maybe it could help you cope better with those feelings when you do return. You, Merlin, deserve a break more than anyone.”

Merlin swallows. “Once the egg is safe, it’d be good to speak to my mother anyway. She was the only one who truly knew my father.” He shakes his head. “I’ll think about it. Gaius, what the hell am I going to tell Arthur?”

“About the dragon egg? Or about the fact you’re a Dragon Lord?”

“Both,” Merlin mutters. “All of it. It’s not like any of it is going to go down well, is it? Oh, by the way, Arthur, I can speak to dragons. Have been speaking to the Great Dragon for years now, he never bloody shuts up.”

Gaius opens his mouth to reply, but they both pause at the sound of the door to Gaius’ chambers opening. Gaius looks at Merlin, before getting up and walking out into the antechamber. Merlin stays on his bed, heart pounding as he strains to hear their conversation.

After a half minute, it becomes abundantly clear he can’t hear anything, so he gets up and walks through the door himself. Arthur is mid conversation but he falls silent at the sight of him, mouth parting.

Merlin stares at him anxiously, unable to look away. Exhaustion lines Arthur’s face, lilac smudges under his eyes, lips bitten red.

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is rough, but quiet. “I won’t stay if you don’t want me to.”

Merlin sways on his feet, unsure what to say. He’s not sure he could speak right now, even if he wanted to.

Gaius is stood to the side, but Arthur doesn’t spare him a glance, gaze fixed on Merlin.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d left,” Arthur explains quietly. “I only wanted to make sure you were safe. I’ll leave you be.”

He turns to leave, and Merlin feels the tug in his chest as keenly as though he and Arthur were opposite ends of a rope. “Arthur.”

Arthur halts by the door. He looks back, but doesn’t speak.

Now he has Arthur’s attention, Merlin realises abruptly he has no idea what to do with it. Idiotically, he blurts, “I shouted at you.”

Arthur’s brow furrows, as though he’s trying to figure Merlin out. “I’m rather used to that by now.”

Merlin looks down at his feet. “You don’t have to leave. Not if you don’t want to.”

Arthur exhales. “Good.” He takes a hesitant step forward. “There are some things we need to discuss.”

Merlin winces. “Oh. Right. Of course.”

Arthur frowns again, eyes troubled. “Merlin, don’t - I can’t bear it when you look like that. We need to talk, and I’ll be honest, I have no idea how our conversation will go, but I have no intention of losing you.”

“Oh,” Merlin repeats, eyes burning again. “That’s - okay.”

Arthur takes another step closer, glancing at Gaius. “Did you want Gaius to stay?”

Merlin’s stomach gives a funny little lurch. “I - no, that’s okay. We can talk in my chamber.”

“I’ll be here if you need me,” Gaius says. After a moment, he adds, “Either of you.”

Arthur follows Merlin into his room. With his mind in overdrive, a hundred details jump out at him; how small his room is, the crumpled blanket on the bed, his pillow thrown aside for where Merlin collapsed onto it.

In the end, they both settle for sitting on the edge of the bed. They’re about a foot apart. Merlin gets the sudden, hysterical urge to laugh; Arthur had his hand on Merlin’s cock a few days ago, but now they can’t even sit next to each other.

“How did you guess Balinor was my father?” Merlin asks abruptly, the silence getting to him.

“Gaius said Dragon Lords pass down their powers,” Arthur explains quietly. “I should have guessed when you said it was you who’d defeated the dragon, but then I suppose I just assumed you’d used your magic to do that. He’s - he’s still alive, isn’t he? The Great Dragon?”

Merlin inhales sharply. “How did you know?”

“There was no corpse,” Arthur says shortly. “I should have realised that, too, but I was too relieved at the time to question where the body was. Even with that, if you hadn’t been so upset about the egg, I probably wouldn’t have put it together.”

Merlin looks down at his hands. “Oh.”

“And I remembered how upset you were when he passed. You cried.”

Merlin blinks at him. “You noticed that?”

Arthur shrugs. “Of course I did. I just assumed at the time it was because we thought all hope for Camelot was lost. Gods know I could have cried that day, too.”

Arthur reaches across then, placing his hand on Merlin’s thigh. “I am sorry, Merlin, about your father. I know it’s not the same, I never met my mother, but I am sorry for how it feels.”

Merlin shakes his head. “Me knowing my father for a day or two doesn’t mean it hurts more than never knowing that person at all. Grief is still grief.”

“Still.” Arthur squeezes once, before taking his hand away. “I am sorry.”

Merlin rubs at his eyes tiredly. “Do you hate me? For setting the Great Dragon free?”

Arthur flinches. “Merlin, I could never hate you.”

“Okay.” Neither of them are looking at each other. “Are you angry at me?”

“I know you must have had a reason,” Arthur says after a beat, which isn’t an answer.

Bile rises in Merlin’s throat. He wants to look at Arthur, but he isn’t brave enough. “I didn’t know what he was going to do. As soon as he started hurting people, I tried to stop him. I did stop him.”

“I know you’d never intend for people to get hurt,” Arthur says. “I don’t - I wasn’t angry. Not at you. You have a good heart, you would have been doing what you thought was right, what was necessary. But dragons, Merlin. Gods.”

Merlin is struck with the startling realisation Arthur is trembling. His hands are clasped tightly together in his lap.

“When I think of dragons,” Arthur begins slowly, “I think of death. I think of nights of death and fire. Sometimes, it’s as though I can still smell the smoke. Hear the screams.”

He cuts off, eyes clouded with memories. Merlin can almost see it himself. For weeks after Kilgarah’s attack he’d had nightmares, visions of giant creatures swooping down and scooping up Merlin and everyone he cared for in its claws. Coupled with the bitter guilt in his stomach, and Balinor’s recent death, Merlin had been a mess.

The memories are so visceral, that he doesn’t realise he’s grasped Arthur’s hand until a strong grip squeezes back.

“I’m not saying this to blame you,” Arthur says hoarsely. “Or to make you feel guilt. I’m saying this, because I want you to understand how I feel. I don’t want secrets between us. I don’t want there to be resentment.”

“I don’t want that either,” Merlin agrees shakily. “It’s better if we’re honest. Even - even if it’s painful.”

“Agreed.” Arthur takes a deep breath, gripping Merlin’s hand tightly. “It’s hard for me to think of dragons as anything but evil. It’s not like finding out about your magic. Even before I learnt you were a sorcerer, I’d questioned my father’s rhetoric before. I’d seen magic used for good. All I’ve seen a dragon do is burn my people alive.”

“If I were a more rational man, I’d tell myself that one beast doesn’t speak for the actions of an entire species. But it’s hard to be rational when I feel engulfed by fear.” Arthur closes his eyes. “I am trying.”

“I.” Merlin’s voice catches in his throat. Arthur does look up at that, eyes widening. “Arthur, I’m so - “

“Oh, _Merlin_,” Arthur says hurriedly. “Sweetheart, come here.”

He tugs Merlin into his arms. Merlin buries his face into Arthur’s neck; he can’t help the huge sigh of relief as Arthur’s arms tighten around him.

“I know it’s necessary, but I hate communication,” Merlin mumbles miserably, and Arthur snorts.

“You can’t spring the news of a dragon egg on me and not expect there to be questions,” Arthur chides, aiming for teasing and not quite making it.

They disentangle, but stay close, hands linked between them. Merlin feels as though he’s been scrubbed raw; bones aching and skin sensitive. Arthur looks the same, shaky, a little ragged.

Merlin clears his throat. “I - I want to find the egg.” Arthur stiffens imperceptibly, but he doesn’t look away. “I’m scared Borden will harm the egg if I don’t. Gaius says he could try to sell it, or worse.”

“There’s a market for dragon eggs?” Arthur asks incredulously. “No, actually, I can believe that. Merlin, if we manage to stop Borden, why can’t the egg just stay where it is? It’d be hidden, as it has been for years. It wouldn’t be able to hurt anyone. It'd be safe.”

“But it wouldn’t be free. I’m the last Dragon Lord and this is the last dragon egg. If I don’t even try to find it, I’ll be dooming the dragons to die out forever. I know it’s hard for you to understand, but I already feel a responsibility to it. A connection.”

Arthur looks uncertain. “And then you’ll what? Hatch it?”

Merlin hadn’t actually thought that far ahead, too preoccupied with having a full blown breakdown. “Um. I guess so.”

“How?”

“I don’t know.” Merlin pauses. “Build a nest?”

“Christ, you’re an idiot,” Arthur mutters, ignoring Merlin’s yelp of protest. “Build it a nest.”

“It’s not like I’ve raised a brood of baby dragons before!” Merlin scowls. “I’d have to ask Kilgarah.”

“That’s the name of the Great Dragon?”

“Oh. Yes.”

“And you still - talk to him?”

Merlin squirms. Arthur doesn’t seem to look angry, though. “Yes. Not recently, but sometimes. When I sent him away that night, I told him I’d kill him if he ever returned to Camelot. Since then, I only call on him for help. Guidance.”

“Help?”

“He’s a creature of the old magic,” Merlin explains. “He’s told me how to break enchantments before, curses. He knew how to deal with the, uh, troll situation.”

“And he took revenge on Camelot because my father imprisoned him for years?” Arthur guesses, voice even. At Merlin’s hesitant nod, his shoulders slump. “And because my father murdered all his kind. And the Dragon Lords, too.”

“Yes,” Merlin says in a small voice. “And they were both wrong.”

“Everywhere I turn there’s bloodshed,” Arthur murmurs wearily. “My father hated his kind, so he committed atrocities against the dragons. The Great Dragon despised my father for what he’d done, and murdered innocents in retaliation. Sometimes, there’s been so much blood spilled, I feel as though I’ll never be able to end it all.”

You’ve already begun, Merlin thinks. You’ve already started to heal old wounds with the druids. You could do the same with the dragons, with this new era. With me.

He doesn’t say that out loud, though. Arthur isn’t ready to hear it. Not yet.

Arthur drops Merlin’s hand and rubs at his face. “Right. I need - I need some time to think on this.”

Merlin was expecting that, but it still stings. Arthur frowns, lost in thought. “Borden isn’t going anywhere, is he?”

“No. He won’t leave Camelot until he has the second key.” Merlin narrows his eyes. “Actually, you should probably make sure the set of keys you have is hidden. The ones that unlock the vaults. We don’t want Borden snooping around your chambers.”

“I’ll keep them on my belt,” Arthur agrees. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll - we’ll talk more then.”

Arthur gets to his feet. He stands beside the bed, hands loose at his side, as though he wants to reach for Merlin. He doesn’t.

Arthur’s clearly struggling with something, a rapid fire of expressions flickering over his face. Eventually, he says, “I can’t stop you from going after the egg. I’d never - I’d never command you not to. I have no right to do that, and I wouldn’t want to anyway. All I ask is, whatever you do decide, that you allow me to come along. Even if I don’t agree with your choice, I don’t - I don’t want you to go alone.”

Merlin feels ready to cry all over again. “I won’t. I wouldn’t do anything without telling you, Arthur. Not when it comes to this.”

Arthur nods once. He hovers by the bed, before quickly ducking down and pressing a kiss to the crown of Merlin’s head. Then he’s gone.

Merlin sits on the bed for a long time, head buried in his hands.

Fuck. He really needs to speak to the Great Dragon.

-

Merlin makes his way to the clearing in the woods that night. The moonlight spills over the trees, bathing the earth in a silver glow. Merlin settles on the ground, waiting cross legged until Kilgarah arrives.

There’s that familiar jolt in his stomach as the Great Dragon lands, the ground shaking beneath his huge claws. For a brief moment, Merlin imagines what it’d be like to have another giant magical creature roaming the skies. His heart races in excitement.

It doesn’t take long for Merlin to tell Kilgarah everything, and the creature’s golden eyes widen. “You were right to summon me, Merlin. I feared the egg had been lost forever. Until now, I believed I was the last of my kind.”

“So Borden was telling the truth?” Merlin asks breathlessly. “The egg really does exist?”

Kilgarah inclines his enormous head. “The stories are true. Merlin, this a chance in a thousand. You must rescue the egg.”

Merlin tugs at a tuft of grass by his boot. “I know.”

“Then what is wrong?”

Merlin swallows. “Arthur - Arthur knows about my magic.”

Kilgarah doesn’t really emote, to be honest, it’s hard to get a read under all those scales, but Merlin gets the impression he’s pleasantly surprised. “Does he indeed?”

“You didn’t know?” Merlin asks in surprise.

Kilgarah gives a fairly decent impression of a shrug. “It has been foretold the young King would know of your magic. What has been less clear is how and when that would happen. That decision has always lain in your hands.”

Merlin frowns at him. “That makes it sound like I have a choice.”

“There is always a choice, Merlin.” Kilgarah shakes his head. “Even if you have no control over the options before you, your actions are yours alone..”

“What if I’d told Arthur about my magic that first day?” Merlin challenges. “What would have happened then?”

“There are many different paths your future could have taken,” Kilgarah says. “It would have changed the course of both your lives, Perhaps for worse, perhaps for better. We will never know.”

“Hm,” Merlin says, because he doesn’t really understand and needs to dissect that a bit more with the help of Gaius. “I see.”

Kilgarah peers at him. “Your head remains attached to your shoulders, therefore I assume the youngest Pendragon reacted favourably?”

“We worked it out.” Merlin smiles suddenly, remembering something. “The druids are trading within Camelot again!”

Kilgarah laughs, the sound booming through the clearing. “My, my, you have been busy! I thought I felt a change in the air. And this egg? What are Arthur’s views towards that?”

Merlin doesn’t really want to get into that. Part of him already questions whether he should be here at all. “Uh, it’s a work in progress. Kilgarah, once I find the egg, what do I do with it? When will it hatch?”

Kilgarah explains how dragons are called into the world by Dragon Lords, how Merlin must name the dragon and that will cause the egg to hatch. Kilgarah also suggests Merlin bring the egg back to him for safe keeping. Even with the slowly changing attitudes in Camelot, it’s in no way the safest place for a dragon egg right now.

“Okay,” Merlin says finally. “I’ll do my best.”

Kilgarah nods. “I know you will. When the time comes, you’ll know what to do.”

“I hope so,” Merlin says, only half joking. “Oh, before I go, I met a phooka.”

“A phooka!” Kilgarah repeats. “I haven’t seen one of those for centuries. They are creatures of very old magic. I had thought they’d all been wiped from this earth.”

“He was interesting,” Merlin says wistfully. “Reminded me of you, actually.”

“In what way?”

“You both talk in bloody riddles half the time,” Merlin complains, and Kilgarah just laughs.

-

Merlin wakes early the next morning.

He gets ready quietly, pulling on his boots and old riding cape. The sun has barely risen in the sky as he weaves his way through the corridors. Something flares anxiously in his chest as he pushes the door open to Arthur’s chambers, but he just steels himself and steps through the door.

“Good morning,” he greets Arthur, a little stiltedly.

Arthur is dressed too, in a dark blue tunic and sturdy riding boots. He glances up as Merlin enters, gesturing to a chair. “Take a seat. There’s enough to share.”

Merlin, suddenly desperate to see if their old rhythm is still there, says, “I’m not sure I’m good enough to share the King’s breakfast.”

There’s an awkward silence, before Arthur snorts, “You’re so skinny I’ll make an exception,” and Merlin breathes out in relief.

“I’m not skinny,” Merlin protests, sitting down.

“You look like a stiff breeze would knock you over,” Arthur announces, and shoves a plate of bacon at him.

Their silence is perhaps less easy than usual, but the awkward edge is gone. Their fingers even brush when Merlin passes Arthur the jam and neither of them flinch away, so Merlin is counting that as a win.

Arthur finishes his meal and takes a deep sip of his drink. He puts it aside carefully. “Thank you for giving me some time to sort through my thoughts.”

Merlin wraps his arms around himself. “It’s okay. You weren’t the only one who needed time to think.”

Arthur clears his throat. “So, I know nothing about dragons. That part is up to you. But I’ve followed countless maps before, I can get us to the tomb.”

Hope explodes in Merlin’s chest. “You’re going to help me?”

“I’m not going to let you go riding off into the woods alone,” Arthur corrects quietly. “I don’t know that I understand why you have to do this. But clearly it’s important to you. I won’t see you get hurt.”

Merlin isn’t sure whether Arthur means hurt by things lurking in the woods, or by Borden, or by the dragon itself.

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin says sincerely. “I mean it. Thank you.”

Arthur flushes, rolling up his sleeves. “Well, you always do what you want anyway. At least this way I can make sure you don’t trip over a log, knock yourself unconscious for Borden to find.”

“Right,” Merlin drawls, grinning at Arthur’s obvious attempts at blustering. “That’s why.”

Arthur ignores him, resting his chin on his hand. “Right. I have the only keys to the castle vault. That part of the - what is it called?”

“Triskelion.”

“That part of the triskelion isn’t an issue. Our issue is Borden. Did Gaius say where he had gone?”

“He’s staying at an inn in the lower town.” Merlin glances out the window. “It’s still early. I could go there now, steal the triskelion whilst he was sleeping.”

Arthur frowns at him. “What if he wakes up?”

“Arthur, I am an all powerful sorcerer,” Merlin says slowly, and Arthur glares at him.

“Fine. You steal the key from Borden. I’ll go down to vaults, find the other part of the triskelion. We’ll meet by the southern gate in half an hour. The sooner we get the triskelion out of the city, the better.”

Merlin nods. “I agree. What do we do about Borden? When he realises the triskelion is gone, he’s going to be furious.”

“All the better for it to be far away then. We’ll deal with Borden later. I’ve already alerted the guards that someone may try to attack the vaults. I didn’t give them any further details, but there’s enough treasure down there that it could be any number of items the thief is after.”

Arthur pauses. “Did you want Gwaine to come?”

Merlin blinks. “I - he could. But I thought - what about Leon?”

Arthur winces. “Merlin, I can’t ask this of Leon.”

Merlin frowns, confused, before realisation dawns, cold and crawling beneath his skin. Leon was there for the dragon attack on Camelot, witnessed first hand the destruction wrought. “Oh.”

Arthur looks regretful. “Leon would do anything for me. I imagine he’d do anything for you too, if you asked. But I don’t want to ask this of him. Not so suddenly. If we had more time to explain, perhaps, but we don’t.”

Merlin climbs to his feet, shoving back his chair. “No, I understood. I don’t want Gwaine coming either, then. Just us.”

“Just us,” Arthur echoes. “Merlin.”

Merlin pauses by the door, looking over his shoulder. “Yes?”

Arthur looks troubled, eyes sharp and sky bright. “I know you’re an all powerful sorcerer, but just - be careful, alright?”

“Aren’t I always?” Merlin teases, warmth rippling through him, and catches Arthur rolling his eyes just before the door swings close.

In the end, it’s almost painfully easy to steal the triskelion from Borden. He’s thought it before, but Arthur knowing about his magic is like a surefire shortcut. He doesn’t have to make up an excuse for why he’s sneaking out and into the lower town. Now that Arthur’s in on it all, Merlin can just get to it.

A simple tracking spell leads him to Borden’s rooms. As suspected, he’s still fast asleep. He also stinks of ale, which has Merlin’s nose wrinkling the moment he steps through the threshold. Borden appears completely out of it, but Merlin stills whispers a hurried sleeping spell, one that will keep him snoozing for at least an hour.

In total, Merlin is in and out within fifteen minutes, and manages to beat Arthur to the southern gate. This is good, because it’s both ammunition to rag on Arthur once he does arrive, and also a way to dispel some of the lingering tension between them.

Arthur leads the way out of the castle, taking them on a twisty path away from Camelot. After half an hour or so of initial bickering, conversation tails off. The forest becomes more wild, tangled branches and dark, overhanging trees. Gaius wasn’t joking when he said the egg was well hidden.

They’re an hour in when the hairs on the back of Merlin’s neck stand up. He pulls his horse to an abrupt half. “Arthur.”

Arthur stops his own mount, glancing at him. “What is it?”

Merlin closes his eyes, trying to focus. His mare shuffles restlessly beneath him, and he can hear Arthur speaking to her in low, soothing tones. Magic skitters over his skin, and that’s when a voice rings through his head, as clear as a bell.

His eyes snap open. “It’s okay. It’s the druids.”

Arthur stares at him. “The druids? They’re here?”

“Yes.” Merlin slides off his horse, running a hand over her flank. “I just heard them.”

Arthur climbs down from his saddle, glancing around. “I didn’t hear anything.”

“They called my name,” Merlin answers vaguely. The trees are thick here, but he can almost make out the shapes of figures in the distance.

Arthur hums. “Your name? The name I call you by, or the other one?”

Merlin freezes. He turns to give Arthur a sheepish look, which Arthur returns with one of exasperation. Arthur waves his hand. “Did they call you Merlin? Or did they call you, what was it, Rhys?”

“_Rhys_?” Merlin repeats, trying to stifle a laugh. “The druids don’t call me _Rhys_.”

Arthur opens his mouth to argue, but it’s at that point the druids appear out of the mist. There are a group of them, faces hidden by dark capes. The leader steps forward, drawing his hood back. Merlin steps closer to Arthur, though Arthur doesn’t appear overly bothered by their sudden appearance.

“Greetings, Arthur Pendragon,” the man intones. “Greetings, Emrys.”

Arthur elbows him in the ribs. “Emrys. That was it.”

Merlin winces. “I’ll explain it later.”

“Explain it to me after we’ve found the ancient tomb, retrieved the dragon egg, and delivered it to the Great Dragon,” Arthur says in a long suffering tone. To the druid, he says, “Greetings. We did not mean to disturb your settlement.”

The druid smiles. “You have not, Arthur Pendragon. We know your quest and where you intend to travel. You are heading to the tombs of Ashkanar.”

Arthur takes a step forward. “You know of the tomb?”

“The druids held two parts of the triskelion before Borden stole it from us,” the druid explains. “And he will not abandon his own quest to retrieve the egg. Your spell did not hold him for long. He has entered the forest.”

Merlin gasps. “Borden is here?”

The druids nods. “He is tracking you. You must make haste. But take care. Ashkanar was a wise man. He knew men would come one day seeking the egg. The legends say the triskelion is not only a key, but a trap.”

Arthur’s eyes narrow. “What kind of trap?”

“That I do not know. But you must be wary.”

“We will be,” Arthur says firmly. “Thank you for your advice.”

The druid watches Arthur for a long moment, head tilted in contemplation. “My brothers say druids once again trade freely with Camelot.”

Merlin brushes Arthur’s shoulder with his. “They do. It was market day only yesterday.”

The druid doesn’t answer, just stands there and smiles mysteriously. That’s the best they’re going to get, so Merlin tugs Arthur’s arm gently. Arthur says a polite goodbye to the druid, thanking them again, and the druids disappear once more.

“How could the triskelion be a trap?” Arthur wonders aloud as they ride away.

Merlin sighs. “I don’t know. Perhaps the tomb is rigged. How far away do you think Borden is?”

Arthur urges his horse forward. “I don’t want to think. Come on, let’s get moving.”

At a fast clip, they reach the tomb within the hour. Ashkanar was clearly a thorough bastard, because at one point they have to leave the horses tied to an entrance beside a cave. Merlin nearly slips and breaks his neck on the slippery rocks, but they make it through the tunnel and out the other side.

“That’s it,” Merlin gasps, staring in wonder at the tower in the distance. It’s so tall, it may as well touch the clouds. “That must be the tomb.”

“Must be,” Arthur agrees tightly. There’s a pinched expression to his face.

Merlin falters. “Arthur, you don’t have to come with me.”

Arthur is gripping his sword tightly, the bright sunlight turning his hair golden white. He looks pensive, but his voice is steady. “No, I said I would. I won’t turn away now.”

Impulsively, Merlin reaches for his hand. He realises abruptly they haven’t touched at all today. It’s a testament to how much they have been touching recently, all those easy, comfortable moments, that the thought is so shocking.

Things between them must be mostly okay, because Arthur let's Merlin tug him towards the tower. They only let go once they enter, Arthur drawing his sword and Merlin taking the triskelion out of his satchel.

Both of them remember the druid’s warning, but no traps befall them as they make their way through the winding corridors. They finally reach a large, stone door, and Merlin feels certainty rock through him.

“This is it,” Merlin announces. “Look at these grooves. The triskelion must fit between them, like a key turning in a lock.”

Arthur sheaths his sword, holding out a hand. At Merlin’s noise of confusion, Arthur arches an eyebrow. “I’ll open the door. You can deal with whatever magical monstrosity is behind it. Trap, remember?”

“Oh, right. Good thinking.” Merlin hands the triskelion over. Arthur slots it against the door. He twists it carefully, and they both gasp as the huge stone door begins to move. Nothing happens as the door opens, revealing a darkened chamber and they both peer inside.

“Perhaps there’s no trap,” Merlin begins hopefully, which is typically when the poisonous gas begins to pour out of the walls.

It hits Arthur directly and Merlin stumbles forward, shouting a spell. He drags Arthur forward into the chamber, magic pouring out of him as the cloud of gas dispels.

“Arthur!” Merlin shouts. Arthur is wheezing, gasping for air, and Merlin stares at him in alarm. “Arthur, are you okay?”

He props Arthur against one of the walls, crouching down beside him. Arthur looks pale, and Merlin curls a hand around his neck, feeling for a pulse.

“I’m fine,” Arthur manages. “I’m fine, Merlin. I just - need a minute.”

Merlin drops his hand to Arthur’s chest, relaxing when he feels a strong beat beneath his palm. He’s crouched between Arthur’s legs, face to face, and he stays there for a moment, closing his eyes and trying to reorientate himself.

“Merlin,” Arthur rasps. “I’m fine. Your magic got rid of the gas before it could do anymore damage.”

“They told us it was a trap.” Merlin keeps his eyes squeezed tightly shut. “I should have been prepared, I could have - “

“Hey, look at me.” A shaky hand touches Merlin’s jaw, and he opens his eyes. “Merlin, I’m not hurt. This isn't your fault. But I need you to listen to me. You need to find the egg, then we can get out of here.”

Arthur's voice is low, measured. It settles over Merlin’s nerves, and pulls him back to the present. He grasps Arthur’s upper arm once, before standing, legs shaky. Arthur pulls his knees to his chest and rests against the pillar, taking deep breaths in and out.

Merlin pulls himself together and walks further into the chamber. His heart is still pounding but his entire body freezes when his eyes fall on the pillar in the middle. There, a shining, iridescent blue, is the dragon egg.

It’s awful, but all thoughts of Arthur fly out of his head at the sight of it. He can scarcely believe it, tripping over himself as he walks towards the centre of the chamber. Wonder fills his chest, heady and buoyant, and he’s reaching for the glowing shell, when there’s a shout.

Merlin whips around. Borden is standing there, face red with rage. He must have caught up with them. His gaze darts to Arthur, but Arthur is still curled in on himself against the pillar. Borden either hasn’t seen him, or has presumed Arthur’s shallow breathing means he’s good as dead anyway.

“You’re Gaius’ boy,” Borden rasps. “You don’t know what you’re meddling with. Hand that egg to me.”

Merlin is instantly filled with a surge of protectiveness; it’s so strong, he may as well be spitting fire himself. “No.”

Borden looks stunned. “You are but a serving boy, you have no idea what you’ve found. Hand it over.”

Fire begins to trickle into Merlin’s veins, surging through his blood. “I said no.”

“You’ve already disposed of your master,” Borden snarls, gesturing to Arthur’s prone body. “Hand me the egg and I’ll grant you a half share. Think of the riches you’d have, more than your master could ever dream of. You’d be free to - “

“I am free,” Merlin hisses. “I have always been free. And I will do everything in my power to ensure this dragon is too.”

Borden is losing it now. He’s sweating, lips pulled into a sneer. “Your power? What power can you have? Your life is pitiable, you follow after the King like a lackey - “

“You ask what powers I have,” Merlin interrupts. “I rather think you don’t want the answer to that question.”

Borden waves his torch at Merlin, the flames bright, and it’s a laughable attempt to intimidate him, when Merlin is made of fire himself. Is made of flame and heat and ash, Merlin is the last Dragon Lord and he will set this tomb alight before any harm befalls his kin.

Borden snaps. He surges forward, lunging towards him. “I’ll make my fortune with that egg, even if I have to kill you to do it - “

Everything happens very rapidly after that. Merlin’s magic lashes out of him, and Borden goes flying through the air. Merlin grabs the egg, has barely lifted it, before the tomb begins to collapse around them.

It all blurs a bit, Merlin spiked with fear and adrenaline, There is lots of running and shouting. He pulls Arthur to his feet and they stumble towards the exit. Arthur’s hand is sweaty in his, the egg cradled to his chest. They run and run until their lungs protest, and even then they don’t stop until they’re outside and blinking in the sunshine.

In the distance, the tower crumbles to the ground. Arthur rests against a tree, doubled over and panting. Merlin’s legs give out completely and he collapses to the floor.

Arthur recovers before Merlin does, probably because he voluntarily exercises and has biceps to rival Percival’s. “Please tell me you got the egg.”

Merlin struggles to sit up, leaning against a tree trunk. “I got it.”

He gazes down at the egg in his lap. Now they’re outside, he can tell the egg’s shell is a mix of blue and white, speckled through with splatters of grey. He can’t stop staring at it.

Arthur is peering around the forest. He makes a noise of disgust. “Borden cut the horses loose. What an ass. We’ll have to walk back to Camelot.”

“Hm.”

“He must have been sure he’d - you’re not listening, are you?”

Merlin runs his hand over the smooth shell. “I think it’s ready to hatch.”

Arthur blanches. “You think it’s _ready to what_?”

“Hatch!” Merlin says, grinning in excitement. He stands carefully, adjusting to the heavy weight in his arms.

Arthur’s face is flecked with soot, streaks of ash dirtying his hair. Merlin must look even worse, but Merlin doesn’t care about anything right now but the real life dragon egg he’s currently carrying.

“I don’t think it’s ready to hatch,” Arthur says quickly. “It doesn’t look ready to hatch.”

“That’s because I haven’t called it from the egg.”

“That’s because you - right.” Arthur looks to the sky, as though searching for a lightning bolt to strike him down. “Merlin, sweetheart, do you think you could hold off on doing that until we’re at least halfway home?”

“Um, why?” Merlin asks vaguely. His arms are beginning to ache, so he tucks the egg carefully into his satchel.

“Because it might be a bit obvious if we walk through the forest with a live dragon for two hours,” Arthur says slowly.

Merlin blinks. He gives himself a shake, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry, I got a bit carried away.”

“Just a little,” Arthur mutters, but he sounds fond. He seems more at ease with the egg in Merlin’s bag. “Come on, it’s a long walk home.”

“I could probably call the horses back,” Merlin says helpfully. “They can’t have gone far.”

His grip on his magic is still a little loose, because within seconds of saying that, there’s the sound of hooves in the distance.

Arthur looks towards the heavens again.

-

After half an hour of riding, Merlin manages to calm himself down a bit. He acknowledges he might have been a tad overexcited, but he more or less pulls himself together after a while, and stops vibrating in the seat of his saddle.

Arthur doesn’t speak much. He occasionally glances at Merlin’s bag like it’s a grenade about to go off.

Merlin, in a display of restraint he didn’t know he had in him, waits until they are precisely half way home to blurt, “I think the egg is ready to hatch now.”

“We’re precisely half way home, aren’t we?” Arthur asks flatly.

Merlin has the decency to look a bit shamefaced. He takes a look at Arthur’s rigid shoulders, and firmly checks himself. Arthur doesn’t find the news of a dragon egg as exciting as you, he reminds himself firmly. He has very valid reasons for being worried about a new dragon being born into this world.

Merlin pulls his mare to a gentle stop. “Arthur, thank you for coming with me to find the egg. But if you want to leave now, you can.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. I told you I’d stay with you.”

“And you have,” Merlin interrupts gently. “And I’m so grateful. I am. But you don’t have to stay to see the egg hatch. I got caught up in my own excitement. I should have been more considerate.”

Arthur looks uncertain. He bites his bottom lip. Merlin can’t tell what he’s thinking, and he leans closer. “Arthur? What is it?”

Arthur must come to a resolution, because he straightens his shoulders and slides off his horse. “I did say at least half way home.”

Merlin stares at him, stomach flipping. “Arthur! Do you mean it?”

Arthur just holds out a hand, helping Merlin down from his horse. It’s a bit cumbersome with the heavy bag in his arms. “You said you had to choose a name?”

Arthur, Merlin realises in that moment, is the bravest man he’s ever met.

“Yes, that’s what the dragon said,” Merlin says softly.

He places the bag onto the ground, crouching beside it. Arthur kneels beside him, and their gazes meet. Arthur is pale, but his eyes are certain. Because he can, Merlin brushes a kiss against Arthur’s temple, and feels Arthur unwind, even if it is only by an inch.

Merlin lifts the egg out of his satchel with reverent hands. He nestles it carefully in the earth, sitting back on his haunches. The air around them seems to crackle; Merlin can feel every rush of air, every blade of grass, every bird that takes flight.

Merlin takes a deep breath. Impulsively, he tells Arthur, “It’s going to be okay.”

Arthur smiles. It’s crooked and tentative and breathtaking. “Stop stalling, Merlin.”

“I’m thinking,” Merlin protests, and Arthur just huffs in amusement.

Merlin takes one last look at the egg, before closing his eyes. He’d been nervous just now, but as soon as he calls on his magic, as soon as he draws deep, it’s as natural as breathing.

The word, “_Aithusa_,” spills from his lips, and the egg cracks open.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> author's note author's note author's note  
i watched the ep with the dragon attack the other day and it just struck me, like fcking hell that'd be so scary. i think arthur is pretty understandable in his concerns about a new dragon hatching. i think he'd had reservations and i think he'd be nervous, to say the least. not saying either merlin or arthur are right or wrong, but this topic is pretty complex for both of them.  
i also wanted them to have to actually talk about issues that they have such different approaches on
> 
> next chapter will have BABY AITHUSA !!! i'm so excited. also how come kilgarah blatantly calls aithusa a him, but in every fic i read she's a girl, like did we just collectively ignore that as a fandom lol. Not that it mattered either way - bit more important the fact they’re a dragon lol - I just wondered ! 
> 
> i think the chapter count is going up, lads. i was worried the other day cause i genuinely can't see this being under 170k (shiit) and i was like WHO WOULD EVEN READ IT IF THAT'S LONG. and then i chilled out a bit
> 
> On a completely random note I watched Star Trek beyond the other day, it was bomb, and I miss writing Spock and Kirk so I might a one shot for them soon. what’s the point of feeling shit if you can’t project it onto your favourite fictional characters 
> 
> anyway ily all im going to sleep now THANK YOU FOR ALL THE COMMENTS


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's been a couple weeks since i've updated this, so thank you all for waiting for this next chapter. it's been a really hard week and like. anxiety is not fun.
> 
> thank you for every lovely comment on this, i saw 500 people had subscribed to this the other day and was blown away.

They both stay completely still as the shell begins to crack. Merlin couldn’t tell you when, but at some point, Arthur had grabbed Merlin’s wrist. He’s holding it so tightly that Merlin will have bruises come tomorrow, but none of that matters now.

In rapt silence, they watch as the cracks in the shell begin to widen, splinter off. Merlin’s heart is in his throat as, with a final shove, a tiny white head appears.

That’s a dragon, Merlin thinks to himself wildly. That’s a _dragon_.

A tiny white snout pushes away the last remnants of egg. There’s a lot of wiggling and shuffling, but it finally breaks free and then Merlin can see her clearly. She is tiny and snow white and adorable.

Having just been born, Aithusa doesn’t seem to know what to do next. She wobbles precariously on her new legs for a heartbeat, before thumping to the ground. Blue eyes slip shut, her flank heaving, like a horse after a punishing ride.

“She’s tired,” Merlin realises.

“She has just been born,” Arthur says in a strained voice. “I imagine that is rather tiring.”

The little dragon is curled into a tight ball. Her wings look like fine gossamer, her scales the purest white. Merlin feels spellbound, drinking in every detail; her sharp fore-claws, the ridge of her back, the soft almost pink of her underbelly.

As if sensing his gaze on her, Aithusa opens one eye. She draws in on herself, tail wrapped around her body, the tip of it resting on her paws. It must be frightening for such a small creature, to be newly born and have two humans staring back at her.

Merlin crouches closer to the ground, trying to look as non-threatening as possible. He holds out one hand, keeping his palm flat. “It’s okay, little one. I’m not going to hurt you. You’re safe now.”

Aithusa tilts her head to one side. She won’t be able to understand him yet, will have to learn language like any infant, but she’ll understand the cadence of his tone. “That’s it. Good girl.”

Haltingly, Aithusa climbs to her feet. She gives a whole body shake, before padding over to his outstretched hand. Merlin holds his breath as she scents his fingers, an oddly feline movement.

He has no idea what she can smell, but a moment later she gives a loud chirp, before launching herself at his arm.

“Woah!” Merlin laughs, stumbling upright as she scrambles up his sleeve.

Aithusa seems intent to explore every part of him, climbing up his arm and perching on his shoulder. She chirps loudly into his ear, nuzzling his cheek like an excitable puppy.

Merlin catches her around her middle, grasping her gently. “No more climbing!”

Aithusa meeps in reply. Merlin can’t help the silly smile that spreads across his face. He adjusts her in his arms, cradling her like a baby. Aithusa seems to approve of this; she wraps her tail over his forearm, burying her head into the crook of his elbow.

She’s about the size of a kitten; a runty kitten, in all honesty, the smallest one in the litter. Thankfully, she weighs around the same amount, and she’s light enough for Merlin to carry with ease. Aithusa yawns widely, revealing sharp fangs, before appearing to fall asleep.

“It’s very small,” Arthur says dubiously, leaning closer.

“She has just been born,” Merlin reminds him, mimicking Arthur’s words from earlier. “Besides, she’ll grow.”

That clearly wasn’t the most tactful thing to say, because Arthur looks from Merlin to the snoozing dragon in his arms with alarm.

“But not for a long time!” Merlin says quickly. “A very, very long time.”

“Right.” Arthur eyes Aithusa warily. “Should we - should we find her something to eat? A rabbit, perhaps?”

Merlin peers down at Aithusa. “I think she’s sleeping for now.”

Arthur nods sharply. “Then we should make our way back. I’ll lead the horses.”

The horses are so well trained they could probably lead Arthur and Merlin back to Camelot, but Merlin doesn’t point that out.

Aithusa sleeps for most of the journey. They’re a mile from the glade where Merlin has arranged to meet Kilgarah, when she finally stirs. Merlin adjusts his grip as she wiggles in his arms.

He had thought she was just getting comfortable, but when he looks down, he notices she is craning her head to look at something. Merlin follows her gaze and realises she’s staring at Arthur.

In return, Arthur is staring back at Aithusa with a blank expression. “Merlin, what is she doing?”

At the sound of Arthur’s voice, Aithusa chirps loudly. She scrambles against Merlin’s hold. Merlin catches on in the nick of time, grabbing her before she can launch herself at Arthur.

“No, Aithusa!” She squirms in his grasp, but he doesn’t let go. “You can’t fly yet, no launching yourself at other people.”

Aithusa chitters, sounding unhappy. Merlin bites his lip. “Arthur can’t - Arthur can’t hold you, he’s busy with the horses.”

Merlin doesn’t think she can understand him yet. Aithusa chitters some more and settles back into his arms. She watches Arthur for the rest of the journey though, blue eyes curious and never wavering from Arthur’s face.

Once they arrive at the clearing, Arthur ties the horses to a nearby tree, in case they spook at the sudden appearance of a giant winged lizard. Merlin puts Aithusa down on a tree stump. She doesn’t seem to mind, sitting down on her haunches and peering around, tail swishing.

“I’ve just got to call the Great Dragon,” Merlin explains hesitantly. Arthur tilts his head as if to say get on with it. Fine, Merlin's given him fair warning about the awkward shouting that’s about to occur.

Merlin gets on with shouting his head off. They only have to wait a few moments before Kilgarah is thumping down beside them. At the sight of Kilgarah, Aithusa nearly jumps out of her skin.

She gives a loud shriek, scrambling towards Arthur. Arthur makes a shocked noise when she launches herself at him.

“_Aithusa_!” Merlin yells.

Merlin suspects it’s only instinct that stops Arthur dropping the dragon. Stiffly, he places a hand beneath her wings, supporting her as she clings to his shirt.

Kilgarah’s eyes are wide. “I never thought I’d live to see this day.”

Merlin is startled to hear the catch in the dragon’s voice, and he smiles at him. “I named her Aithusa.”

Kilgarah inhales. “A fitting name. For in the dragon tongue, you have named her after the light of the sun.”

Arthur walks cautiously closer, Aithusa still gripping his tunic. His mouth is drawn into a thin line. He doesn’t flinch when his eyes fall on Kilgarah.

Merlin looks between the two of them, tension thick in the air. Aithusa peeps softly, Arthur’s arm tightening around her.

“Arthur Pendragon,” Kilgarah rumbles. “I am in your debt for assisting Merlin in retrieving the egg. I can feel your anger, young King, and know I am the cause of it.” Kilgarah bows his head. “I cannot begin to atone for the destruction I wrought on the innocents of your kingdom.”

Arthur’s voice is hard. “The past cannot be undone. But I have no wish for further bloodshed between our people. Let our actions from this moment prove our worth.”

It’s as much a threat as it is a truce offer, and everyone in the clearing knows it.

Apparently satisfied, Arthur detangles Aithusa’s claws from his front. He holds her out to Merlin, hands around her waist, so Aithusa’s legs are dangling in the air. Aithusa doesn’t seem to mind; if anything, she seems to think this is hilarious and deliberately wiggles in Arthur’s grip.

“Merlin, take the dragon,” Arthur orders. Merlin scoops her up, cradling her in his arms.

He turns to Kilgarah, a lump rising in his throat. “What - what happens now?”

“I will look after her, young warlock.” Kilgarah bends his head to stare at Aithusa, who narrows her eyes, claws digging into Merlin’s arms. “I will care for her until she is old enough to fend for herself.”

Merlin swallows. “Will she - will she be alright?”

Arthur nudges him gently. “Merlin, you know she can’t come back to Camelot.”

Merlin looks down at Aithusa’s precious face, blue eyes large as they watch Kilgarah’s every move. At least she no longer seems afraid of him now.

“I know.” Merlin sighs and scratches her head, right behind her ears. Aithusa leans into it like a contented cat. “But she’s so small. Can I still come see her?”

“Whenever you wish,” Kilgarah promises. “Merlin, you are a Dragon Lord. For now she is too young to be by your side, but you will never truly be parted.”

Merlin knows it’s the right thing to do. He can’t look after a baby of his own species, let alone a newly hatched dragon. Still, his chest aches as he gently places Aithusa on the ground.

Aithusa butts his foot once, chirping at him.

“I’ll see you soon,” Merlin tells her, and he means it with all his heart.

-

Merlin is quiet on the ride home. He glances behind him more than once, looking wistfully at the sky. Arthur doesn’t say anything, but when they’re a mile or so from the castle walls, he pulls both of their steeds to a halt.

“Let’s walk the rest of the way,” he suggests lightly.

Merlin slips out of his saddle. His feet have barely hit the ground when Arthur is tugging him into his arms. He walks them backwards until Arthur is resting against a tree, Merlin pressed to his front.

Arthur’s arms are steady around Merlin’s waist. His face is still speckled with ash and dust. Merlin looks at him, and something in his chest just crumples. Arthur must read it in his eyes, because he reaches up to cradle Merlin’s face in his palms.

“Merlin, what’s wrong?” Arthur murmurs. “We don’t have to go back yet, love. Not if you don’t want to.”

Merlin swallows. “She was - she’s so little. What if something happens to her?”

“The Great Dragon will watch over her.” Arthur strokes a thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone. “He said he would, didn’t he?”

“I know.”

Arthur lifts Merlin’s chin gently. “What’s really upsetting you?”

Merlin can’t hold back, the words spilling out of his mouth. “I should be the one watching over her. I’m a _Dragon Lord_, it’s my _duty. _ But even if she could come back to Camelot, I wouldn’t know what to do. There’s no one to teach me, they’re all - the Dragon Lords are all - “

He breaks off, unable to finish. Arthur’s grip tightens on his jaw. Merlin can’t help turning his head and brushing a kiss against Arthur’s palm.

“I know nothing of my history,” Merlin says finally. “And I never will. The Dragon Lords were wiped out. I’ll never know the secrets they did. No one will ever teach me. Especially not my - my father.”

Merlin is glad he’s leaning against Arthur because his legs are trembling. He’d known it would affect him like this, the rational part of him had even tried to prepare for it. The dragon egg had been the catalyst for this kaleidoscope of hurt and fury and regret, it’s no wonder it’s all exploding now.

“Merlin.” Arthur’s gaze sweeps Merlin’s face, pained and helpless. “I’m so - I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

Arthur shakes his head. “That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry about the Dragon Lords. I’m sorry you grew up never knowing your - your family.”

Merlin blinks at that, startled when tears spill over. Arthur drops his hands, running them soothingly over Merlin’s arms instead, over and over again. Merlin tries to match his breathing to the steady rhythm, inhales in and out until he feels anchored once more.

“There may be books in the library,” Arthur suggests quietly. “I know it’s not the same, but perhaps you could find out more about the Dragon Lords. I bet Geoffrey would be able to trace back Balinor’s lineage, too.”

Merlin wipes at his eyes. “That’s a nice idea.”

“I know it won’t bring them back.” Arthur sweeps his thumb over the crook of Merlin’s elbow. “I’m not saying it’ll make things suddenly better. It might help a great deal. It might not help at all. But either way it’s your choice, Merlin.”

He feels better now, only a small amount, but better. Talking it through with Arthur and having a cry always seems to do that. The pressure on his chest has lifted a fraction, which is something.

Merlin rests his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, reaching up and fiddling idly with the hair at the nape of Arthur’s neck. “Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur smiles at him. “I didn’t do anything.”

“Don’t fish for compliments.”

“I wasn't!” Arthur protests indignantly, and Merlin laughs.

He peers at Arthur from under his lashes, feeling suddenly shy. “Do you ever wonder what it would have been like?”

“If you’d grown up as the son of a Dragon Lord?”

Merlin nods, feeling childish.

Arthur hums. He ducks in and kisses Merlin’s cheek, breath hot against Merlin’s skin. “You would have been a member of nobility.”

Something about the way Arthur says it sends heat straight to Merlin’s stomach. “Camelot would have wanted to ally with my people.”

“Hm.” Arthur’s hand curls over Merlin’s hip. “The Dragon Lord heir, arriving in Camelot, ready to treat with the Crown Prince.”

“Dressed in finery,” Merlin murmurs, and gasps when Arthur’s nails dig into his waist.

“A crown of silver,” Arthur agrees, voice rough, and Merlin shudders. For a dizzying moment, he wonders if they’re still fantasising, or whether that’s what Arthur really wants one day.

Arthur nips at his jaw, the sudden sting making Merlin’s toes curl. If the satisfied glint in Arthur’s eyes is anything to go by, he’s more than aware of that fact.

Merlin would like more than anything to continue this, but they are, regretfully, standing out in the open. Merlin’s not quite brave enough to take that step in their relationship yet.

He glances pointedly at the lack of space between them, before sighing. “We’re outside.”

“We are.” Arthur smiles at him. “And you are tired.”

“I am not,” Merlin lies, immediately suppressing the yawn he was about to make.

“Liar,” Arthur chastises fondly. “Besides, the past few days have been difficult for you. I know you miss Aithusa already.”

There’s no point in lying. It’s written all over his face. “I do.”

Arthur’s voice is kind. “I don’t think it’s the right time to - start anything.”

Merlin tilts his head to one side, looking at Arthur curiously. “That’s important to you, isn’t it”

“What is?”

Merlin shrugs. “People being in the right mood. Consent.”

Arthur makes a face. It’s the same face he made when Merlin complained that the visiting nobles were getting handsy with the servants, Merlin included. It’s the same face he made before said visiting nobles were soundly thrashed in the training arena.

“I would have thought,” Arthur says icily, “that consent is important to a great many people.”

Merlin never thought he was a swooner, but Arthur really needs to knock off the literal knight in shining armour thing, or he’s going to be.

“I know,” Merlin drawls, tapping his thumb against the soft skin of Arthur’s neck. “And I thoroughly agree. I only meant it seems especially important to you.”

Arthur shrugs. “I suppose it is. I never had much choice on who my father foisted on me. The poor Earl’s daughters and visiting princesses didn’t have much choice either. I’m glad it’s not like that between us.”

“It’s not,” Merlin promises. “Trust me, I’d be long gone if I didn’t want to be here.”

“Brat.” Arthur kisses him quickly. “Are you ready to go back?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, and finds that he means it.

-

Arthur walks him back to his chambers. Merlin had explained he needed some time by himself, and Arthur hadn’t even blinked. He’d simply nodded and left with a parting kiss to the corner of Merlin’s mouth.

Gaius is waiting for him, and he drops his book when Merlin walks through the door. “Merlin! What happened to you?”

Merlin had forgotten how dusty and dirty he must be. On inspection, his hands are filthy. “The tomb collapsed on us.”

“What?” Gaius stares at him. “How did you get out alive? Was the egg destroyed?”

“No,” Merlin says, and beams so wide it hurts. “We managed to save the egg.”

Gaius ushers Merlin to a seat. He cleans Merlin’s face with a wet cloth, carefully wiping away the dirt as Merlin rambles on.

“You should have seen her, Gaius!” Merlin babbles. “All the jewels, all the treasures, they don’t compare. I have never seen something so precious.”

Gaius smiles at his excitement. “She certainly sounds like it. I never thought I’d see the day a dragon hatched into this world.”

“That’s what Kilgarah said.” Merlin tilts his head back, letting Gaius dab at his neck. “Gaius, you can come with me when I visit Aithusa. You can meet her!”

“I would like that very much.” Gaius squeezes his shoulder. “You should be very proud of yourself, Merlin. I know this can’t have been easy for you.”

Merlin clears his throat. “There may have been a few tears.”

“Well, I’m not surprised. I’m sure it was a very emotional moment,” Gaius says. “I imagine anyone would struggle to stay straight faced at the sight of a baby dragon.”

Merlin sits upright. “That reminds me, you should have seen Arthur.”

“Of course! I’d almost forgotten. How did Arthur react?”

Merlin pauses. “You know how cats have a way of making a beeline for the only person in the room who hates cats? It was like that.”

“Oh dear.”

Merlin snorts. “I shouldn’t be mean, he did so well. Even if he did look at Aithusa like she was a bomb about to explode. I would have completely understood if he didn’t want to come with me at all, but he said he didn’t want me to be alone.”

Gaius shakes his head. “First the druids return to Camelot, now Arthur is helping you find a dragon egg. I can’t begin to imagine what you two will get up to next.”

Merlin shrugs. “Repeal the ban on magic, I hope.”

“Arthur plans to lift the ban?”

“He says he will. And I believe him.” Satisfied he no longer resembles a pig in muck, Gaius allows Merlin to sit down at the table. “I don’t know when though. It’s all very complicated.”

He and Arthur haven’t discussed it much, not since the day Arthur dropped the bombshell that’s what he intends to do. They keep meaning to, but then life throws a random obstacle in their path, like a rogue thief and a centuries old tomb that holds a dragon egg. “And Camelot is in a precarious position, as is.”

“You mean Agravaine,” Gaius guesses.

Merlin nods. “Even with him away from Camelot, I’m sure he’ll have spies of his own in the castle. Who knows how many men he has on his side? Not to mention Arthur’s newly crowned. Making such a huge announcement in his first year as King - it’s a huge risk. I know more than a few councillors who doubt him already. They’d turn on him in an instant. The controversy it would cause - it’d be easy for Agravaine to sway them to his cause.”

“It sounds like you have some very valuable thoughts on the matter, Merlin.” Gaius passes Merlin a piece of bread. “I’m sure Arthur appreciates your counsel.”

Gaius is staring at Merlin expectantly, emphasising the last sentence as though that’s meant to mean something.

Merlin gives Gaius an odd look. “It’s not like there’s a surplus of sorcerers to gather opinions from.”

“Even if there were, Arthur would still choose you as his adviser,” Gaius says pointedly.

Merlin chews on his roll and blinks at Gaius in confusion. Gaius sighs. “Merlin, there are a great many changes happening in Camelot. Have you ever stopped to think what that might mean for you?”

“I suppose being able to breathe without breaking the law will be a nice change.”

Gaius sounds exasperated. “Merlin, has it ever occurred to you that you might not be Arthur’s manservant forever?”

“Um, no.” Merlin has no idea what Gaius is getting at. “I’ll always be at his side.”

Gaius stares at him. Merlin squints. “Is this because Arthur is technically my employer? Because honestly, that’s never really had much weight, I’ve always done what I wanted regardless. Not that Arthur would ever try to - exploit his position, but if he so much as thought about it I’d knock him on his - “

“Oh, never mind,” Gaius grumbles. “I'm sure you’ll figure it out soon enough. Arthur always has been single minded in the pursuit of his desires. Come to me if you have any questions.”

“I will,” Merlin promises, still utterly clueless. Gaius is so odd sometimes. “Anyway, did I tell you about Aithusa’s wings?”

-

Merlin is needed in the lower town the next morning. There’s a flu going around and Gaius needs an extra pair of hands. Merlin is surprised by how nice it is working as a physician again, even if it is healing snotty, coughing patients. He likes being among the townspeople, using the skills Gaius has taught him, being useful.

It shocks him when one of his patients suggests he should see if the druids have any symptoms, as they’ve been in and out of the citadel, too. The shocking part is that the suggestion is genuine; it’s not a dig at the druids, or a snide proposal that the druids are responsible for bringing in the illness. It's pure, simple concern for another person.

The sun is low in the sky as Merlin walks back to the castle, streaks of amber and lilac as evening draws around them. His pace is leisurely as he reflects on his rounds. It wasn’t the first time today he saw signs of the druid’s presence in the town. In an elderly lady’s home, there was a thick woollen shawl, made of a material he’d never seen in Camelot before.

At another house, a young boy had followed Merlin around, asking a flurry of questions. He’d been keen to show Merlin the threaded, leather bracelet around his wrist, a similar style to the bands and pendants the druids wear. The boy’s mother had commented he’d gotten it from one of those ‘new stalls at the market.’ Merlin had told the little boy his bracelet was very nice, which seemed to please him a great deal.

The memories put him in a buoyant mood as he makes his way to Arthur’s chamber. They haven’t crossed paths today, both busy with their different tasks. The thought makes Merlin suddenly feel desperate to see him, his feet hurrying down the corridor.

When Merlin pushes open the door, he sees that a bath has been prepared and heated for Arthur. It’s placed in the middle of the room, steam curling in the air. A whispered spell has the candles lighting, their flames creating shadows against the wall.

It makes the room feel smaller, more intimate. Arthur strides out from behind the screen and he’s shirtless. Merlin drinks in the stretch of golden muscles, and feels a hunger spark in his chest.

“Merlin! I haven’t seen you today, how were your rounds in the lower town?”

“Fine,” Merlin replies absently. “How was your meeting with the council?”

Arthur takes a seat on the bed, removing his boots. Arthur’s barefoot now, wearing nothing but breaches that meld to his skin. He’s also speaking, but falls silent when Merlin approaches. His thighs part automatically to allow Merlin to stand between them, and something about that has heat coiling in Merlin’s stomach.

“Hello,” Arthur murmurs.

“Hello,” Merlin breathes, and bends down to kiss him.

It’s not like kisses they’ve shared before. There’s a wildness to this, born from either the firelight around them or the simmering in Merlin’s chest, he’s not sure. All he knows is the kiss is rough, desperate. He bites down on Arthur’s bottom lip, sucking it in his mouth, swallows the whines Arthur makes and fists his hand in blond hair.

In return, Arthur’s grip is tight on his hips, yanking him closer. Arthur’s hands travel from his waist down to Merlin’s arse, and Merlin is the one to whine as his fingers dig into the skin there.

They part only for breath. Arthur’s pupils are blown wide.

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps. “I - what are you - “

“Your body is ridiculous,” Merlin tells him accusingly, and drops to his knees.

Arthur’s chest hitches. “Merlin, are you sure you - oh - “

Merlin’s hand runs over Arthur’s thigh. He drags it over the inseam, just grazing Arthur’s cock where it’s straining against the fabric. Merlin’s half hard himself, more so when images of Arthur fucking him flash past, hard, hard and good until Merlin is shaking -

“Merlin, I - Merlin.” A hand tilts his chin up. Arthur visibly swallows at the sight of Merlin looking up at him from between his legs. “You don’t have to - “

“I want to,” Merlin cuts in. “I want to put my mouth on you. Is that what you want?”

“Gods, Merlin, _yes_.”

Merlin takes off Arthur’s breaches, mouth going dry at the sight of Arthur’s cock, pink and already wet at the tip. He lets his tongue circle just the tip, as Arthur’s body judders above him. He sucks the head into his mouth, slow and teasing at first, before taking it all in his mouth.

Arthur’s hands fist in the sheets as Merlin swallows him down. “Your _mouth_, Merlin.”

It isn’t Merlin’s first time doing this, and he bobs his head up and down. He’s heavy and salty on Merlin’s tongue, and Merlin’s own cock is straining against his own trousers. Arthur’s hips buck, and he sucks harder and faster, uses one hand when needed to carry on the rhythm.

When he pulls off, he makes sure it’s with a slick, wet sound. Merlin wonders what he looks like, knows his mouth must be red and open.

There’s a pretty pink flush that starts at Arthur’s neck and travels all the way down. Merlin digs his nails into Arthur’s thighs, and rasps, “I want to do this to you in the throne room.”

Arthur makes a choked sound, and Merlin continues. “You, sat on your throne, in nothing but your _crown_ \- “

“_Fuck_,” Arthur groans. His hands drop to Merlin’s head, not pulling, but curling into the hair at the nape of his neck. “Fuck, what else, sweetheart?”

“Me between your legs,” Merlin manages, and the hands do tighten, then. It’s only once, reflexive, but it makes his cock jerk. “Like this, watching you shake under my tongue - “

It’s too much, Merlin is too breathless with arousal to continue. He swallows Arthur down again, He takes Arthur even deeper, and his name sounds like an oath as it falls from Arthur’s lips.

Arthur’s hands remain in his hair, but they’re soft, gentle. Even as he writhes above him, he never once hurts Merlin. That, of all things, makes Merlin so hard he could come there and then.

“Sweetheart,” Arthur pants. “I’m going to - I’m close. You feel so, _ah_, if you don’t want me to - “

Merlin only speeds up his rhythm, even as his jaw aches, and when Arthur comes, he swallows it down. Arthur comes with a bitten off cry, hips stuttering. One hand falls to Merlin’s shoulder, the heat of his skin burning as his fingers dig into the divot of his collarbone.

Merlin can’t help teasing him through the aftershock, suckling on the sensitive head as shivers rack through Arthur. Eventually, he pulls off with an indecent pop, subtly wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Arthur looks thoroughly debauched, chest heaving. Merlin’s hand immediately goes to his own cock, but then rough fingers are gripping his wrist and pulling him upwards. Arthur’s mouth crashes against Merlin’s, and Merlin moans at the thought that Arthur can likely taste himself on Merlin’s lips.

Arthur tugs Merlin onto the bed, flipping them so Merlin is beneath him. They both tear at Merlin’s clothes, shoving breeches down and scrambling out of tunics. Arthur’s hand finds Merlin’s throbbing cock and squeezes, and Merlin cries out. “_Arthur_, oh, that feels so - “

He buries his face in Arthur’s neck, writhing as Arthur brings him off with hard, punishing strokes. Merlin was already close to the edge and it doesn’t take much more for him to tip over. He comes harder than he ever has in his life, the sounds he makes muffled by the way he presses his forehead into Arthur’s shoulder.

Afterwards, neither of them move for a few minutes. Merlin’s entire body feels lax, falling back into the sheets with his eyes closed.

When he opens them, Arthur is watching him in fond amusement. In the dimmed lights, his eyes could almost be violet. An aftershock rattles down Merlin’s spine, and Arthur’s arms curve possessively around him. They’ll be overheated and sticky soon but, for now, with only the air between them, it’s perfect.

Arthur stretches languidly, settling his weight more evenly on top of Merlin. He mouths absently at the stretch of sensitive skin beneath Merlin’s ear. “Not that I’m complaining, but that was unexpected.”

“But good?”

“Very good,” Arthur murmurs into his ear.

“I’ve wanted to for ages,” Merlin admits, gasping as Arthur’s hot mouth bites down gently. “Ever since - ah, ever since the tavern.” Arthur is sucking down on the skin now, a steady pressure just edged with pain, it’s definitely going to bruise, oh gods. “And I haven’t seen you today, and then when I did, you were shirtless and I - “

Arthur pauses in his torment, grinning down at him. “And you couldn’t resist me?”

“Prat,” Merlin hisses, and shoves Arthur’s head away.

Arthur just laughs, sitting up so he’s straddling Merlin’s hips. “You know, we could both do with a wash.”

Merlin throws an arm over his eyes, sighing. “I’m never moving from this spot again.” He yawns, muscles heavy and content. “Besides, the water will be cold by now.”

“Merlin, you’re a _sorcerer_,” Arthur drawls, and then he’s throwing Merlin over his shoulder.

Merlin does not want to encourage this behaviour, even if Arthur manhandling him is attractive to him for unknown reasons. To his credit, Arthur is very gentle when he deposits Merlin into the tub.

Still, he makes sure to splash him as he climbs in, snorting at the affronted look on Arthur’s face. “Don’t dish it out if you can’t take it, Pendragon.”

“You talk such rubbish, Merlin.”

They both sigh as a whispered spell warms the water. Merlin sinks into it, ducking down until his shoulders are covered. The tub is large enough for both of them, their legs tangling together.

Merlin tilts his head back, contemplating Arthur lazily. Arthur's head is lent back, mouth parted in pleasure as the heat settles into their bones. His chest is slick with water; old scars carved in silver.

“I’ve never done this before,” Merlin murmurs. “Share a bath, I mean.”

“Neither have I.” Arthur reaches for Merlin’s ankle, idly loops his fingers around the jut of bone. “It’s nice.”

The simplicity of that statement warms something in Merlin’s chest. “I think so, too.”

Merlin has seen Arthur’s body plenty of times during his years in Camelot, but this is different. Intimate. He feels pleasantly exhausted from their activities earlier, lax and satisfied. Merlin wishes he could stay in the golden sphere that surrounds them forever; lulled by the sound of the water lapping against the sides, the steady rise and fall of Arthur’s chest. Their limbs tangled, Arthur’s eyes bright and soft around the edges.

Arthur smiles at him, open and vulnerable in a way that Merlin treasures. “They say there are hot springs in the Southern lands. Entire pools that are warmed by the earth below. We could try and find them, one day. When this is all over.”

“I would like that.” Merlin’s lashes feel heavy.

Arthur’s touch is slow and rhythmic over Merlin’s skin. “I’m told my mother enjoyed visiting the Southern lands. She liked feeling the sun on her face.”

Merlin looks at Arthur, his golden hair, and the warmth he feels for his people, and the way he burns brighter than an open flame, and thinks he’s more his mother’s son then he’ll ever know.

“You could visit the places she enjoyed going most,” Merlin offers, and Arthur’s answering smile is sweet as summer berries.

Merlin drifts closer, settling in Arthur’s lap. His hands are wet as the cup Arthur’s face, droplets of water glinting in the candlelight. When they kiss, it’s slow and saccharine, as steady and certain as the heartbeat in Merlin’s chest.

Arthur’s eyes are lidded, thick lashes dark against his cheeks. At some point, his hand had travelled up Merlin’s legs, and is now dangerously close to a different area.

Merlin rests his forehead against Arthur’s, inhaling quietly. “That’s not my ankle.”

“Stunning observation, Merlin,” Arthur mumbles, and, if Merlin kisses him for a second time, it’s only to get him to shut up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is the shortest yet, but you got two orgasms and a baby dragon, so no complaining 😂 
> 
> a/n aithusa was never actually definitely being in this story, but then i wrote her and like... she is baby and nothing bad is going to happen to her ever. 
> 
> chapter count has gone up!!! *screams internally* we're going to have a few more chapters of domestic interludes before it all goes to shit hahahaha 🙃
> 
> i think the bath scene is my favourite scene i've written so far. i love soft arthur, i love arthur talking about his mother. i also love merlin talking about his heritage and the loss of an entire community he suffered because he never did in the show @bbcmerlin put your location on i just want to talk 
> 
> thank you for reading this and i appreciate every comment!!!! slight spoilers for next chapter - it is someone's birthday, merlin is oblivious, the knights will probably show? Because I miss them. I know a lot of people have asked and I absolutely love writing this, I’m very lucky to have so much fun with this story. (We still have 10 chapters to go and already feel sad that this will end eventually 😭 at least we’ve got a long way to go first)


	16. Chapter 16

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah this chapter is nothing but them being soft

Merlin asks Gaius about it the next morning over breakfast. Well, Merlin waits until Gaius has scooped up a spoonful of porridge, then blurts, “Gaius, what is Geoffrey like?”

Gaius blinks at him. “Geoffrey the court genealogist? Geoffrey the court librarian? Merlin, you’ve met him.”

“I know,” Merlin says quickly. “I meant what he’s like about _magic_.”

Gaius puts down his spoon. Merlin feels a bit bad about that in all honesty, but Gaius is used to Merlin’s shit by now. “Merlin, what have you done?”

“Nothing!” Merlin protests. “I only thought he might be able to - that perhaps he could trace back Balinor’s heritage.”

“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius pats his hand. “That’s a lovely idea.”

“It was Arthur’s idea actually,” Merlin says proudly. “Do you think Geoffrey would do it?”

Gaius looks thoughtful. “He may be surprised by the request, but I’m sure he would. Geoffrey is an old friend, he remembers the time before the Great Purge. When I suspected Edwin’s true identity, he helped me access the old records, even though Uther had forbidden it.”

“So he might help.” Merlin sighs. “Arthur will have to be the one to ask him, though. Geoffrey hates me.”

“Have you been stealing books from the library again?”

“I don’t steal them! I just borrow them. It’s not like I can walk up to his desk and ask to check out ten different books on magic.” Merlin snorts. “Though I might as well, Geoffrey always knows it’s me. I don’t know how, but he does. And he’s never forgiven me for setting the goblin free.”

“Well, Geoffrey cannot refuse a request from the King,” Gaius says. “So Arthur may be your best bet.”

Merlin meets Arthur outside the doors to the library. He’s there before Arthur, and he grabs him by the sleeve as soon as he arrives. “You took your time!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Sorry, I was a little busy running the kingdom.”

“That’s not a valid excuse!”

“It’s not a valid excuse when I use it,” Arthur corrects grumpily. “You use it whenever you please. Why didn’t you just go in and ask Geoffrey yourself?”

Merlin flushes. “Geoffrey hates me.”

Arthur pinches his nose. “Is this because you keep stealing magic books from the library?”

“I’m going to put them back,” Merlin hisses. “You need to go in and ask him, he likes you.”

Arthur crosses his arms and smirks. “Everyone likes me.”

“I don’t,” Merlin lies. “I’m only in it for the paycheck.”

“Aren’t you particularly sharp tongued today?” Arthur laughs, ruffling Merlin’s hair beyond repair. “Come on, let’s go talk Geoffrey round.”

He pushes the library doors open, striding ahead. Merlin runs to catch up, grabbing hold of Arthur’s wrist. “Arthur, wait!”

Arthur glances over his shoulder. “What is it?”

Merlin bites his lip. “It, uh. Might be best if I wasn’t there when you ask.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says, ten parts resigned and ten parts curious. “Do I want to know what you’ve done to poor Geoffrey?”

“I haven’t done anything,” Merlin snaps. “Please just go ask him!”

Arthur looks amused, but he obediently wanders over to the desk where Geoffrey always sits. Merlin peers around a bookshelf, bouncing on his feet with nerves until Arthur comes back. “What did he say?”

“Well, he did give me a bit of an odd look. But he thinks he should be able to trace back some of the history.”

Merlin gasps. “Does he know when?”

“He said it might take some time,” Arthur explains apologetically. “The records that weren’t destroyed have been restricted for years. Anything that had a slightest association with magic was either burnt or buried deep. But he’s going to try.”

Merlin tries not to get his hopes up. It’ll only hurt more if Geoffrey can’t find anything. He rocks forwards on his heels, nodding. “I understand. I know it’ll take time. Hey, do you want to see something?”

“Is it more books to steal?” Arthur asks dubiously, sliding his hand into Merlin’s.

Merlin looks down at their joined hands in surprise. Anyone could wander into the library and Geoffrey is sitting right over there. It’s one thing for the knights to know, but Arthur needs to be more careful if he doesn’t want the entire castle to find out about them.

Hastily, Merlin tugs Arthur towards the shelves at the back and out of sight. “All the interesting books are at the back.”

“I wasn’t actually joking when I said I had a kingdom to run,” Arthur gripes, but he follows after him.

Merlin ignores Arthur’s moaning and reaches up with his free hand to grab a book off the shelf. There’s a large, dusty volume on magical creatures he wants to show him. The book is large and he has to drop Arthur’s hand to stop it falling on his head.

They carry the book back to Gaius’ chambers, because Arthur refuses to keep it in his. It’s one thing to allow the druids to trade in Camelot again. It’s another thing entirely for a nosy maid to find a book of magic hidden in the King’s private chambers.

Gaius is stirring a potion at his workbench, looking up when they walk in. “Good morning, Arthur.”

“Good morning, Gaius,” Arthur greets him. “Is that the potion for the lower town - “

“Me and Arthur are going to my chamber,” Merlin interrupts,

“Are you?” Gaius says drily.

Arthur blanches. Merlin doesn’t notice, holding up his book in excitement. “This is the book I found with the legend of the phooka in it. I want to show Arthur the drawings.”

Gaius smiles. “Ah, of course. Odd creatures, phookas. Very old magic. I can’t say I ever met one, though I knew sorcerers who had.”

“Arthur loves them,” Merlin says, laughing when Arthur digs him in the ribs. “You do! You want to reintroduce them into Camelot!”

“I do not!” Arthur snaps. “I just think they’re interesting, that’s all.”

“Right,” Merlin drawls, grinning at the dirty look Arthur sends him. “Come on, I’m hoping there might be something in here about dragons.”

Merlin had actually made an effort to clean, so his room is at an acceptable state. Merlin rifles around in his drawers. “I’m sure I had another book here, too. Take a seat wherever - “

“Very small your bed, isn’t it?” Arthur observes, looking around.

Merlin pauses in his rummaging, glancing over. “There’s nothing wrong with my bed! It’s not like I have anyone else in it.”

“I should hope not,” Arthur scowls. “Don’t - Merlin, would you - you could have a larger bed. If you wanted.”

“No, thank you,” Merlin says absently, giving up and returning to the book they nicked from the library. “I like my bed. It’s loads better than the one I had in Ealdor. That wasn’t even a bed, it was some pillows stuffed with straw and a stone floor.”

“That’s not what I meant, Merlin - “

“I can’t find the other book, so we can look through this one for now.” Merlin walks over to the bed, nudging Arthur’s knee with his. “Budge over.”

Arthur leans back on his hands, and says casually, “You could sit on my lap.”

Merlin turns beet red. “Arthur!”

Arthur shrugs, gaze hot and contemplative as he drags his eyes over Merlin. “You did in the tavern that time.”

“We said we were never going to talk about that night again,” Merlin stutters, his cheeks burning as Arthur continues to appraise him. “Besides, I’m surprised you remember anything that happened, you were completely pissed.”

“I don’t remember anything that happened,” Arthur agrees idly, looping a finger through Merlin’s belt loops. “But Percival does. And he said you - “

“Fine!” Merlin snaps. “Gods, you are so annoying.”

There’s no way Merlin is sitting on Arthur’s lap with Gaius just outside, so they settle for him sitting between Arthur’s legs instead. Arthur sits with his back against the wall and Merlin fits snugly between his legs.

Merlin props the book on his lap, as Arthur’s arms wrap around his waist and settles Merlin against his chest. “Look at this page.”

Arthur props his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. “Merlin, this book looks ready to fall apart.”

“All the interesting books are ancient,” Merlin explains. “It’s not like they were publishing new ones each year. Ancient, or uncared for. I think half of these only survived because your father didn’t know about them. Or didn’t bother to go into the deepest corners of the library very often.”

Arthur sighs, breath tickling his ear. “Some were probably kept to be tactical. So he’d know their - weaknesses. How to get rid of any magical creatures that crossed his path.”

Arthur sounds quiet, resigned, so Merlin squeezes the hand around his waist. “Well, we can use them for something different, can’t we? Look, this is the drawing that made me realise we’d met a phooka.”

Arthur hums in interest as Merlin points. “Is there more information on the selkies? I want to know if you’re eternally cursed for throwing away that pond slime.”

“You mean you want to find out if _you’re_ cursed,” Merlin corrects. “She gave it to you, you have to learn to take some _responsibility_, Arthur.”

“Merlin, what have we said about you trying to be funny?”

Even in his wildest dreams, Merlin could never have imagined he’d spend a morning looking through a book on magical beasts with Arthur. He shows Arthur all his favourite creatures, ones he has met, ones he’s only read about but hopes to see one day.

“And this one is more of a myth,” Merlin is explaining. “But if you want my opinion, there’s a real possibility it does exist. They say it only appears to women on the eve of their twenty third birthday, and I have a theory - “

“Their birthday?” Arthur asks suddenly.

“Yes, their twenty third birthday,” Merlin says slowly. “Anyway, it is my belief that - “

“Merlin.” Arthur gently pushes Merlin away from his chest, turning him so they are facing. “It’s your birthday next week.”

“I don’t have a birthday,” Merlin replies automatically.

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Don’t start.”

“I don’t have a birthday,” Merlin begins loudly. “Because unlike those of noble birth, peasant children don’t have a scribe to jot down the exact date they first took breath - “

“Merlin - “

“Nor can many poor families read or write,” Merlin continues. “Meaning they are unable to mark the date themselves - “

“Yes, I know, Merlin,” Arthur groans. “You’ve made your thoughts on the educational inequalities in class very clear. It’s why we set up those classes with the children in the lower town.”

“I know, I just like to remind you of the privileges of your station - “

“You do,” Arthur agrees. “And I welcome it, but that is not what you are doing right now, sweetheart. You are trying to distract me and it’s not working.”

Merlin sighs dramatically. “Well, partly, but I’m also just trying to wind you up.”

Arthur groans and shoves him out of his lap. Merlin laughs, scrambling to sit beside Arthur instead. Arthur pokes him in the arm. “After your first recital of that speech, you decided to just pick a date.”

Merlin tilts his head against the wall, thinking back to all those years ago. He and Arthur had spoken about it during his first few months in Camelot. He’d known the season he’d been born in at least, the rough time of year. Arthur, in a rare moment where he was not being an arrogant baby, had suggested Merlin pick a date he liked. So Merlin had.

They’d celebrated it ever since. Not in the way a Crown Prince celebrates his birth, but Merlin wouldn’t want that anyway. Arthur had gifted Merlin with a plush, winter coat last year, with red mittens to match. It had been velvety soft and Merlin still wears it.

Merlin pokes Arthur back. “I know. It is my birthday.”

“You just said you _don’t_ have a birthday,” Arthur mutters. “The point is, it’s your birthday next week. How do you want to celebrate?”

Merlin blinks. “I - I don’t know.” He pauses. “Oh, actually, there is one thing I thought I might ask.”

Arthur smiles at him. “You don’t need to ask, Merlin.” He clears his throat, a little awkward. “I know I - I am the King, but you are your own person.”

Merlin looks down at his hands. “I thought - I thought perhaps I could visit my mother.”

Arthur goes very still. When Merlin glances at him, his face is stricken. “Oh, Merlin. I am so sorry, but I’m not sure we should risk a visit to Ealdor.”

“But why not?”

“I fear Agravaine has spies within Camelot,” Arthur says quietly. “They will certainly be watching me. They may also be watching you. Even if they don’t know about - us, you’re manservant to the King. If my Uncle were clever, and he is, he wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to catch you unawares. You’ve been in every meeting, every council. If they see you riding out alone, they might try and take you in. Find out what you know.”

“Oh.” Merlin swallows. “I don’t want them to follow me back to Ealdor, either, to my mother. For now, only you and a few others know where she lives. Or that she even exists - I doubt any of the other members of the court are keeping a track of my family tree.”

“I am sorry, Merlin.” Arthur looks miserable. “Of course, I can’t stop you from going. I just worry - “

“No, you’re right,” Merlin interrupts. He tries to muster a smile. “I wouldn’t want to put her in danger. We can go to Ealdor when this is all over, right? When Agravaine is dealt with. And Morgana.” He clears his throat. “And anyone else who tries to kill you. Which there undoubtedly will be, because you are a magnet for trouble.”

Arthur elbows him gently. “Yes, clearly I’m the cause of all the scrapes we get into. It’s got nothing to do with you punching Kings, or illegally practising magic - “

“One king,” Merlin corrects him. “I’ve only ever punched King Caerleon. Unless you’re counting yourself, which you shouldn’t, because that time with the mace was an accident.”

Arthur ruffles his hair obnoxiously, laughing when Merlin bats his hands away. “Do you want to go see Aithusa?”

“What?”

“For your birthday,” Arthur suggests. “You could go see Aithusa.”

Merlin blinks. “Oh, yes. Yes, I would like that. Do you - do you think I’d be able to find her easily enough?”

Arthur takes his hand. “I know you’re worried about her, but she’ll be safe with the Great Dragon. I’m sure she’ll show as soon as you start screaming at the sky.”

“Would you like to come with me?” Merlin asks quickly, before his courage can leave him. “To see Aithusa, I mean. You don’t have to. You probably don’t want to - “

“If you want me there,” Arthur says quietly. “Then I’d be happy to come.”

Merlin grins. “Okay. Does this mean I finally get a day off?”

Arthur gives him an odd look. “Merlin, do you ever think - one day I hope that - “

Merlin frowns. “I am having the day off, right? Because I’ll just go anyway, even if you say no.”

Arthur groans. “Merlin, you are the most oblivious person I’ve ever met.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Merlin demands.

Arthur just shakes his head in exasperation. He picks up the book, thrusting it at Merlin. “Never mind. Show me the horse that eats people.”

“It’s called a kelpie,” Merlin says primly. “And they only eat people who don’t have magic. I think. So you’re in big trouble, sweetheart.”

“Good thing I have you to protect me, then,” Arthur says. He gives Merlin another one of those funny looks. “Almost like it’s your job - “

“Look at how sharp their teeth are,” Merlin says excitedly. “I’m certain I saw one down by the river, but Gaius says - “

“Ugh,” Arthur mutters, and thunks his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder.

-

Percival stops him on the stairs a few days later. Merlin has his hands full with some potions for Gaius. He would have rushed straight past him if Percival hadn’t called his name.

“Oh, hi, Percival.” Merlin nods his chin at the vials in his arms. “Sorry, Gaius is running me ragged today. We don’t want the flu in the lower town to spread.”

“Do you need any help?” Percival asks, righting one of the vials when it nearly topples out of Merlin’s grip.

“No, I got it. But thank you.”

“If you’re sure. Do you like flowers?”

Merlin blinks. “Flowers? I - I guess. Percival, what - “

“Great, thanks, Merlin.” Percival clasps his shoulder, deliberately gentle. “I’ll see you at practice later.”

“Bye then,” Merlin calls in bemusement, watching him leave.

-

Percival isn’t the only knight who appears to have walked into a wall that day. Merlin spends the rest of the morning avoiding Gwaine, who follows him around like a puppy and has apparently prepared an entire questionnaire for him. Merlin manages to get away mid-afternoon, begging off to deliver Arthur’s latest speech to him.

When he arrives at Arthur’s chambers, it’s to find Leon and Arthur deep in conversation. Their heads are bowed together, whispering like a pair of boys. Neither of them notice Merlin at first, but the moment they do they fall instantly silent.

“Hello,” Merlin says slowly, closing the door behind him. “I’m just delivering Arthur’s speech.”

“Oh, thank you.” Arthur stands from his chair and walks closer. “I wondered where that had got to.”

“Well, I was going to write it in here,” Merlin explains. He blinks when Arthur presses a kiss to his cheek, taking the scroll from his hand. It’s certainly not the first time Arthur’s kissed him, but he doesn’t understand why Arthur is suddenly so affectionate in front of everyone else. He supposes it’s only Leon. “But I was trying to get away from Gwaine.”

“Understandable,” Leon says. “What’s he done this time?”

“He keeps asking me questions!” Merlin exclaims. “I think he and Percival might have had a falling out.”

Leon winces. “Er, what makes you think that?”

“Because all the questions are about flowers and gifts. He must be looking for a way to make up.” Merlin peers at Arthur, before gripping his chin. “Arthur, _what_ have you done?”

Arthur squirms in Merlin’s grasp. “Nothing.”

“So, this doesn’t hurt them,” Merlin says archly, and pokes the slowly forming bruise on Arthur’s cheekbone.

Arthur jerks his head away. “Ow, Merlin! Leon and I were just - having a wrestle. Earlier.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “You know, I don’t know why I bother trying to keep you safe. The King of Camelot and you’re off having wrestling matches with your knights!”

“It’s good for team building,” Arthur protests.

“I’m going to get a salve from Gaius.”

“You are not.”

“Fine, walk into the council chambers looking like the backend of a bar fight.” Merlin scowls at him. “See if I care. I’m off to avoid Gwaine some more.”

Arthur grins at him, a little crooked. “I’ll see you later?”

Merlin glares at him and presses a quick kiss to his Arthur’s mouth. “Gods, yes. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Merlin!” Arthur calls cheerfully.

Merlin just throws him a dirty look over his shoulder. It isn’t that effective if the ensuing laughter is anything to go by, but then Merlin is perhaps hiding his own smile.

-

On the morning of Merlin’s birthday, Gaius makes Merlin his favourite breakfast. He also gifts him his own medicine bag, telling Merlin firmly that he’s earned it. There may be some crying. And some hugging. Gaius also passes him a letter from his mother, and then there definitely is crying.

“What are you doing for the rest of your day, Merlin?” Gaius asks.

Merlin is pouring over the letter in front of him, tracing the words in neat, hesitant ink. “Arthur and I are going to visit Aithusa. Would you like to come, too?”

Gaius shakes his head. “No, I’ll come another time, Today is a special day for you.”

“It is my birthday,” Merlin agrees, completely missing Gaius rolling his eyes. “You’ll come see Aithusa soon though, won’t you?”

“Of course I will.” Gaius smiles at him. “She’s quite captured your heart, hasn’t she?”

“She’s so sweet.” Merlin sighs. “I wish more than anything I could bring her back to the castle, but I know why we can’t.”

“If you were the one to call her from the egg, I’ll imagine you’ve already formed a bond.” Gaius leans closer. “The Dragon Lords could tame all dragons, but each Dragon Lord had one dragon they were closest to.”

“I bet Kilgarah was my father’s chosen dragon,” Merlin guesses. “And Aithusa is mine.”

“And you hers,” Gaius adds, and Merlin smiles.

Arthur collects him later with congratulations, a kiss and a promise to give him his gifts that evening. In all honesty, Arthur riding out with him to meet a baby dragon is gift enough. (It’s possible Merlin is feeling more sentimental than usual.)

The weather is pleasant as they urge the horses forward, sun passing through the trees and warming Merlin’s hair. The conversation between him and Arthur is easy and light, comfortable as they head into the forest.

“Gaius thinks Aithusa and I have a special bond,” Merlin tells Arthur, ducking under a branch. “Because it was me who called her from the egg.”

Arthur’s face is tilted to the sky, enjoying the rare warmth. Last summer, Arthur spent so much time outside that he developed a scattering of freckles over the bridge of his nose. Merlin hopes he does again this year; they were frustratingly charming.

“Is that how you know we’re going the right way?” Arthur asks.

Merlin blinks. He hadn’t even realised he was leading their small party, but now that Arthur’s mentioned it, something in him knows exactly the path to take. “Yes, I think so. And I - I don’t think I’ll need to call her to me, either. Not in the dragon tongue, anyway. I think she’ll be able to find us when we’re ready.”

“Well, that will save you a sore throat, at least,” Arthur teases. “Do you think we’re nearly there?”

Merlin nods. “Yes. It’s just over this ridge.”

Merlin’s intuition leads them to a little clearing. Once the horses are grazing contentedly, Merlin stands in the middle and concentrates. Now the moment has come, he feels suddenly anxious.

He clears his throat. “Aithusa?”

There’s a nerve wracking moment where nothing happens. Merlin fidgets and Arthur rests a hand on his shoulder. “Give it a minute, Merlin.”

Merlin worries at his bottom lip. “What if she’s not - “

There’s a rustling from the trees in front, then a tiny, white ball of scales bursts out of the bushes. Aithusa may be unable to fly yet, but she can jump, and she barrels into Merlin’s arms.

“Aithusa!” Merlin yells in delight.

Aithusa chirps. She nuzzles Merlin’s neck, occasionally licking him and making him squirm. Her little claws dig into his tunic, but Merlin doesn’t care, adjusting her so he can look at her properly.

“Have you grown?” Merlin coos. “I don’t think you have, you are still so tiny.”

Aithusa preens, obviously able to pick up on his proud tone. Merlin rubs a finger under her chin, and she hums happily.

“What a good girl.” Merlin wrinkles his nose. “You may not be bigger, but you’re definitely heavier. That’s good, you must have found something to eat.”

He flops onto the ground, crossing his legs so Aithusa can settle onto his lap. She is making excited noises, occasionally nosing at his wrist, his fingers.

Arthur takes a cautious seat beside him. Aithusa’s head snaps up, but she doesn’t move. She looks up to Merlin and makes a questioning peep. Merlin just strokes her back and she settles down again.

“It’s my birthday today,” Merlin tells her. “Do dragons have birthdays? Do you know what that is? Probably not. Anyway, it basically means I can do what I want today, so I came to see you.”

“Can she understand you, yet?” Arthur asks quietly.

Merlin frowns. “I don’t think so. Not words, anyway. But she can pick up on emotions, tone of voice, that sort of thing.”

Aithusa had looked up again at Arthur’s voice. She wriggles in Merlin’s lap, but doesn’t move apart from that.

Arthur is watching her carefully. “She’s still so small.”

“It must take dragons a long time to grow,” Merlin shrugs. “Not that I’d know for sure, I know nothing about them. Kilgarah is the size of a castle, so presumably they don’t stay this size forever.”

“Merlin, I - “

“Do you think she’s getting enough food?” Merlin runs a hand over her belly. “What would she even eat out here?” Merlin peers down at Aithusa. “Aithusa, what do you have to eat?”

Aithusa eyes him curiously, tilting her head. After a moment, she hops out of his lap and goes crashing into the trees. There’s the sound of something very small, but very determined, destroying several bushes, then Aithusa tumbles back out.

“Oh,” Merlin says, as she drops a dead mouse at his feet. “That’s - um.”

Aithusa nudges the bloody remains towards him and peeps expectantly. Merlin tells himself that retching would really not make a good impression right now.

Surprisingly, whilst Merlin is distracted by trying not to gag, Arthur is the one to speak. “Good girl, Aithusa.”

Two sets of eyes snap to him. Aithusa makes a hopeful noise. Arthur looks a bit disconcerted, but he carries on. “Good, er, hunting.”

Aithusa looks delighted at having Arthur’s attention. Her tail thrashes in excitement, and she drags the mouse over to his boot.

“It’s alright. You can have that,” Arthur tells her. Aithusa throws the mouse back and eats it in a flash of white teeth. Then she sits down on her haunches with a thump, staring at Arthur with wide, blue eyes.

“Well.” Arthur clears his throat. “Clearly she’s not completely defenceless.”

“Should we be encouraging this?” Merlin hisses. “What is she going to bring us when she’s ten times bigger? A moose?”

“Are you going to take down a moose?” Arthur asks Aithusa. It’s the friendliest he’s ever sounded, and they’re talking about hunting. Typical. “You’ll have to grow a bit bigger if you want to take down a deer.”

Aithusa is still staring at Arthur with rapt attention. She shuffles closer then, quickly, as though they won’t catch her, she rests her head on Arthur’s boot. Merlin goes very still, but Arthur just looks down at her in bemusement.

He doesn’t say anything, and after a moment Merlin strikes up a conversation about the latest gossip going around the castle. Aithusa huffs contentedly and curls herself into a tight ball by Arthur’s feet.

After a while, Arthur’s hand gently strokes her head.

-

Arthur tells Merlin to go wash up once they arrive back at the castle. Merlin would usually have a sharp retort to that, but Arthur looks so anxious that Merlin bites his tongue. He watches Arthur hurry away in bemusement, before heading to his own chambers.

He does make an effort to look more presentable, washing in the small basin in Gaius’ rooms. He even changes his tunic, swapping it for the purple one that he knows Arthur likes so much.

Nerves tingle in his stomach as he walks to Arthur’s chambers. He has the strange urge to knock before he enters, which Merlin has never done in his life. He grabs the door handle instead, only to frown when the door won’t budge.

“Arthur?” Merlin calls. “Why won’t the door open?”

“Just a minute!” Arthur’s muffled voice shouts back.

“You’re not being assassinated, are you?” Merlin replies, only half joking, then flinches. “Oh god, are you? Knock twice for - “

“I’m not being assassinated, Merlin!” Arthur bellows.

Merlin figures Arthur would be less snappy if he was actually being assassinated, so he leans against the wall and waits. There’s a few crashes, then the sound of something heavy being dragged away from the door. “Okay. You can come in now.”

“If there is actually an assassin in here I’m going to be really cross,” Merlin warns him, and then he sees the room. “Oh, _Arthur_.”

Arthur is standing in the middle of the room, hands folded neatly behind his back. His cheeks are flushed, eyes bright and wary. “Do you like it?”

All the candles are lit, flames flickering off the wall and causing the room to glow. There are flower petals, actual flower petals, strewn across the bed, gorgeous shades of pink and white and red. The fire is lit, warming the room and crackling in the grate.

“I.” Merlin stares around in wonder. “You - you did all of this? For me?”

Arthur rubs the back of his head. “Well, the knights helped a bit, but yes. I wanted to do something special for your birthday.”

Merlin is still speechless. His legs are suddenly trembling, and he grips the table for balance. “No one has ever done anything like this for me before.”

Arthur flinches. “Uh. Haven’t they?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No. Never.”

“Oh. Right.” Arthur swallows. “You haven’t actually said if you like it or not, yet.”

Merlin blinks at him, shocked to find tears in his eyes. He rubs at them hurriedly, rushing over to Arthur. “Arthur, of course I like it. This is - this is really lovely.”

He doesn’t really know how to express the tangle of emotions in his chest right now, so he throws himself at Arthur instead. Arthur oofs, but he catches Merlin easily, strong arms wrapping around his waist.

“Are you crying?” he mutters teasingly into Merlin’s ear.

“You’re the one who put flower petals on the bed,” Merlin shoots back, swaying slightly as he grips the back of Arthur’s shirt. “Who knew the King of Camelot was such a romantic?”

“Don’t get used to it.”

“Somehow, I think that’s not true,” Merlin grins, pressing his smile into Arthur’s neck. “Are you going to write me a poem?”

“Why am I the one making all the effort?” Arthur complains, hands dipping under Merlin’s tunic. “Perhaps you should write me a poem.”

Merlin laughs, drawing back so they’re face to face. They stay intertwined, still wrapped around each other. “I’m not very good at poetry. I could compose you a song instead?”

“I’ve heard you sing, I think it’d have the opposite effect,” Arthur says seriously, and Merlin laughs again.

Arthur takes his hand and pulls him over to the bed. Merlin feels a little thrill of excitement, but Arthur just sits down on the edge. Oh well. They have the whole night. Plenty of time for Arthur to bend him over the table later.

Merlin takes his own seat beside Arthur. “Happy birthday,” Arthur says belatedly, and Merlin kisses him, soft and sweet and tender.

Arthur is smiling when they break apart. “I have a gift for you.”

He reaches beneath his pillow, pulling out something wrapped in a brown cloth. Merlin’s eyes go wide. “Is this why you haven’t let me clean your chambers for the past few days?”

“Nothing gets past you, does it, Merlin?” Arthur smirks. “I couldn’t have you poking around and finding it.”

Arthur’s tone is light, but when Merlin looks down, his hands are trembling. Almost imperceptibly, but it’s there. He’s watching Merlin in a way he’s never done before. Merlin thought he knew all of Arthur’s expressions by now, but this one is full of - _longing_.

Merlin wets his lips. The tingling in his stomach is back. Neither of them speak as Arthur passes over the package.

Merlin fumbles with the cloth it’s wrapped in, hands clumsy as he pulls it away. Cupped in his hands, is a beautiful, silver sigil. It’s not one Merlin’s seen before, the shape of a bird with its wings spread. When Merlin turns it over, he realises it’s been fashioned into a brooch.

“Arthur.” Merlin turns it back over, traces one finger over the intricate design. “This is _beautiful_.”

“It was my mother’s,” Arthur murmurs, and Merlin gasps. “It’s her seal. It was designed for her to be able to wear it always.”

“Arthur,” Merlin stutters. “I can’t - this is - “

“I want you to have it.” Arthur’s eyes are wet, Merlin realises. He cups Arthur’s cheek with a shaky palm, and Arthur shudders. They both take a moment to breath, surrounded by nothing but candlelight and their own beating hearts.

Finally, Arthur’s hands cover his own. “May I?”

Merlin can’t speak, but he nods his head jerkily. Arthur’s hands are deft and sure as they undo the catch, before pinning the sigil to Merlin’s tunic, right above his heart. His hands fall away, resting on Merlin’s thighs instead.

Merlin runs one reverent finger over the little bird, feels the lines of the wings as they spread, free and ready to fly. His chest feels tight, and he’s not surprised when a tear spills over his cheek and lands on his hand.

“Merlin,” Arthur says carefully. “Do you understand what this means?”

Merlin nods. He has had birthday presents before, even if he’s never had one as precious as this.

Arthur’s mouth parts. “So, you - you accept it?”

Merlin looks up at him through his lashes. “Of course I accept your gift, Arthur. It’s beautiful.”

“_Merlin_,” Arthur breathes, and kisses him.

-

All in all, best birthday Merlin’s ever had.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeah, merlin does not know what the sigil really means
> 
> arthur is like... such a hopeless romantic ... he tries to write poetry, there's a scene where he puts flower petals on the bed, major candle usage, like.... you can't tell me he wouldn't absolutely dote on merlin, cause he fucking would
> 
> things i do not care about:  
whether anything in this story is historically accurate 
> 
> things i do care about:  
merlin getting to have a birthday so he can be loved by his bf   
merlin running a medieval buzzfeed unsolved and being like BUT I REALLY DID SEE THE KELPIE THIS TIME GAIUS 
> 
> i have spent the entire week watching shera which is AMAZING, and really GAY, but actual canon gay, and like, i would like a space gf a whole lot. however, it did get me thinking about how much i want to write fem merthur fic, or even just fem merlin and arthur. the dynamic would be so much fun. and i'm really bi. possibly what i'll write next, but who knows 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this chapter and as ever, comments are always appreciated :) i'm very excited about what's coming next in the story ahusjigkoh
> 
> (for anyone wondering, merlin did not get bent over the table that night, cause they're being *romantic* but he probably will at some point in this fic)


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> two chapters in as many days woop

Arthur doesn’t bend him over the table, though in hindsight Merlin probably wasn’t ready for that yet anyway. They do kiss though, a lot, with the sheets getting pretty mussed, and Merlin doesn’t actually return to his own bed until the early hours.

All this means that Merlin oversleeps the next morning. He doesn’t have time to talk to Gaius, rushing out the door with a wave. Gaius just raises an exasperated eyebrow in response.

The bird sigil is still pinned to his tunic. Merlin hopes it won’t be an issue; plenty of the noble’s servants wear the odd accessory, earrings or bracelets or broaches. The kitchen and stable staff can’t of course, but Merlin’s seen more than one Lady’s maid with a pretty anklet or a pendant.

Merlin skids into the kitchen, panting as he rounds the corner. Arthur’s breakfast is waiting on the side for him, and he hurries over. He nearly bowls over a kitchen maid in his haste, and stops to apologise. “I’m sorry, Laurel, I didn’t see you there.”

Laurel smiles at him, shaking her head. He treated a burn on her wrist last year, a pretty severe one, and she’s been kind to him ever since. “You want to be careful, you’ll - oh, Merlin! Congratulations.”

“Um, thanks.” Merlin isn’t entirely sure what she’s congratulating him on. He follows her gaze, realising she’s looking at the pin. “Oh, I got this yesterday.”

“It was your birthday yesterday, wasn’t it?” Laurel beams.

The congratulations make more sense now. “Yes, it was.” Merlin ducks his head. “I had a lovely day.”

“I’m sure you did! I’m so glad.” Laurel squeezes his arm. “I’ll never forget how kind you were, when you treated my arm.” She glances around furtively. “Most of the servants assigned to the nobles are much too self-important. I’m glad it’ll be you.”

“Right,” Merlin says, confused all over again. “I have to deliver Arthur’s breakfast, but what do you - “

“Of course!” Laurel hands him the tray, and piling on the silverware. “Make the most of it, though I doubt you’ll miss this much!”

The tray is becoming heavy, and the food is growing cold. Merlin chalks it up to his brain being muddled from a lack of sleep, and scurries away.

Arthur is already awake when Merlin arrives. He’s in that floaty white tunic that Merlin likes, sat at his desk and absent mindedly tapping his quill against his mouth.

Merlin puts the tray down with a clatter. “I just had the weirdest conversation in the kitchens.”  
Arthur sits up abruptly. “You’re wearing it.”

Merlin pauses in unloading the tray, voice soft. “Of course I am, Arthur. I told you I would.”

Arthur stands, rounding the table and striding towards him. “I know, but it’s different to see you - to see someone actually wearing it.”

“One of the girls in the kitchen noticed.” Merlin glances down at his tunic. “But it was odd, she - oof!”

There’s not a lot of conversation after that. It’s not really possible to have a chat when the King of Camelot has his tongue in your mouth.

The girls in the kitchen aren’t the only ones acting oddly. When he passes other servants in the corridor, they whisper and point. A few of them even clap Merlin on the back. And the winking. Either there’s a castle wide eyeball infection or there’s something going on that Merlin doesn’t know about.

He doesn’t even get any answers from Sir Leon, and he’s the most sensible one in the entire Kingdom. He stumbles across Merlin in the armoury, blushes, and makes some cryptic comment about the future to come and the courage of the heart. It’s extremely weird. It’s also extremely possible everyone in Camelot has gone insane.

“I’m starting to think Camelot might be cursed,” he tells Gaius later that afternoon.

Gaius frowns at him, putting aside the book he was paging through. “All of Camelot?”

“Definitely everyone in the castle,” Merlin grumbles. He carefully hangs his medicine bag up on the hook beside Gaius’, shrugging out of his jacket. “They all keep staring at me - “

“Merlin,” Gaius gasps. “What is that?”

Merlin groans. “Not you too, Gaius!”

Gaius puts on his glasses as if to see clearer. “Merlin, my boy, I think congratulations are in order.”

“Ugh, no, they’re not. Why does everyone keep saying that?”

Gaius inhales sharply. “Merlin, I thought you’d be happy. Please tell me Arthur did not force this upon you?”

“Force what upon me?” Merlin throws his hands in the air. “Is this about the other day, because all we did is read - “

“Merlin,” Gaius says sharply. “Are you aware you are now the King’s favourite?”

Merlin blinks, shuffling in his chair awkwardly. “I mean, I guess. I’m probably, like. His best friend. After Leon.”

Gaius puts his head in his hands. “Not his favourite, the _favourite_. The favourite of the King.”

“I don’t understand what you’re talking about,” Merlin snaps, then feels all the blood rush from his face. “Wait, _what_?”

“That token symbolises - “

“Like, a _favourite_ favourite?” Merlin blurts, heart pounding so loud he can hear it in his ears.

“Yes.” Gaius waves his hands. “As in someone who has the favour of the King or Queen.”

“A favourite,” Merlin repeats. “What does that entail exactly?”

“Kings and Queens often have favourites,” Gaius explains quietly. “Sometimes one, but they can have as many as they choose. A favourite is someone the King holds in high esteem, someone special to them. They are elevated in the eyes of the court.”

Merlin stares at him, hand going to his mouth. Gaius smiles gently. “Being a King’s favourite also means no other noble can court you. Or bother you - to harm a King’s favourite is a grave offence. In the past, monarchs have killed for less.”

“That’s what last night was about,” Merlin breathes. “I’m such an idiot, I thought it was just for my birthday!”

“I take it Arthur had something planned?”

Merlin sighs dreamily. “You should have seen it, Gaius. The clotpole covered the bed in rose petals. _Rose petals. _I don’t think you could find a bigger sap in the five kingdoms.” Merlin grins. “It was great.”

Gaius shakes his head fondly. “And that’s when he gave you the sigil?”

“Yes.” Merlin winces. “Um, in hindsight he did say something about whether I understood what he meant. And something about accepting his gift?”

“Yes, accepting his gift and in turn accepting the offer of being his favourite.”

“You mean I could have refused?”

“Of course you could have,” Gaius says sternly. “It would be different if Arthur ruled the way his father did. But Arthur is not cruel, or unjust. I never believed he’d force this upon you, which is why I was so worried when you were not beaming from ear to ear.”  
“Are we that obvious?” Merlin asks sheepishly, and Gaius just smiles. “I’ve seen favourites before. Not in Camelot, but when other Kings have come to visit. But they were always more - well. Scantily dressed?”

Gaius clears his throat. “Yes, well. As I said, different Kings rule differently. The treatment of favourites varies from kingdom to kingdom. But Arthur has never taken a favourite before.”

“Never?”

“No. Not when he was Prince, nor when he was Regent. Though he would have been within his rights to.” A shadow crosses Gaius’ face. “I think Uther would have encouraged it, even, as a show of power, if nothing else. He and Arthur never saw eye to eye on that point.”

Merlin twists his fingers together. “We’re not - I haven’t gotten married without noticing, have I?”

“No,” Gaius laughs, and Merlin slumps in relief.

“Oh, good. Not that I wouldn’t want to - that I haven’t thought of - “ Merlin blushes. “I’ve only just turned three and twenty, my mother would kill me if I’d been wedded. Especially without inviting her!”

“A favourite is not a husband or wife,” Gaius reassures him. “The step above a favourite would be a consort.”

“I know what one of those is!” Merlin says quickly, glad to finally be less clueless.

Gaius inclines his head. “A King takes a consort when he intends to seriously court someone. Taking a consort doesn’t necessarily mean there will be a marriage, but most relationships between a consort and their partner does eventually result in such a union.”

Merlin hums. “So Arthur and I are already courting, but this makes it official? To the entire court?”

“Arthur has publicly stated his affection for you, yes."

“Oh god.” Merlin bites his lip. “Do I have to do anything? What do I have to wear? Am I going to have to learn lots of new rules and etiquette?”

Gaius sighs. “Honestly, Merlin, I doubt much will change at all. You and Arthur have never behaved in the typical way of a master and servant. To be frank, I believe half the castle already assumed Arthur had claimed you as his anyway.”

Merlin knocks his head against the table top. “Why does everyone know these things before me?”

“Yes, it is getting to be a bit of a habit,” Gaius says drily, and Merlin groans.

“Don’t tease me, Gaius.” Merlin lifts his head. “I’m the King’s favourite now. I’ll have you thrown in the dungeons.”

Gaius snorts. “We both know you won’t do that.”

“No, I won’t,” Merlin admits. “Though on second thought, is that something I can do?”

Gaius fixes him with a look. “You are not throwing Agravaine in the dungeons, Merlin.”

“That’s not what I was thinking,” Merlin lies.

“Though if Arthur does make you consort, it does throw up some interesting questions about the line of succession.” Gaius peers at him. “Are you sure you’re alright with this, Merlin?”

“I still can’t believe it,” Merlin murmurs. Carefully, he unpins the sigils and holds it in his cupped palms. “I’d always known I’d be by Arthur’s side, forever. I’d even hoped I might be able to tell him my true feelings, one day. But I’d never dreamed it could be like this.”

He looks up, meeting Gaius’ eyes. “He loves me, doesn’t he? He really loves me.”

Gaius gets up and walks around the table. He puts an arm around Merlin, and Merlin leans into it. It’s comforting to have Gaius here, to have someone steady and familiar amid all this change.

“He does,” Gaius says quietly. “And he wants everyone to know. More than that, for you to finally be treated with the respect and honour you deserve.”

Merlin looks down at the little bird in his hand. “He’s been more openly affectionate these past few days. I did wonder why.”

Gaius hums. “He’s actually been very sensible in all this. If he’d made your consort immediately, there would have been uproar from some of the councillors.”

“Because I am a servant?”

“And a man.” Gaius wrinkles his nose. “Some councillors have more outdated views on having a blood heir. It’s ridiculous, of course. Many kingdoms appoint heirs now, welcome in a ward. Some even take a Queen or King for that very purpose, but have a consort of their own choosing.”

Merlin scowls. “I don’t like that idea.”

Gaius laughs. “Don’t worry, Merlin. I don’t believe Arthur would favour that suggestion either. His own sense of honour wouldn’t allow it. But it’s a big announcement. And Arthur has already riled the court with his declaration about the druids. At some time in the near future, he’ll be repealing the magic ban, as well.”

“He can’t rock the boat,” Merlin realises. “He can’t make too many changes too fast. His position is precarious enough already, being a new King and with the threat of Agravaine skulking in the background.”

“Exactly.” Gaius squeezes him tightly. “But by choosing you as the King’s favourite, he’s sowing the seeds for when all of that is possible. It helps that you are already liked among the people.”

Merlin blushes. “I’m not really.”

“You are, Merlin,” Gaius tells him. “The Kingdom has seen you advise Arthur for years now. They have seen you ride into battle alongside Arthur, even though you are not a knight. You are a very skilled physician and all my patients have witnessed your kindness.”

“I just do what you tell me,” Merlin mumbles, but can’t help the warmth that blooms in his chest.

“And the knights are always singing your praises,” Gaius continues. “You should hear what Sir Gwaine says about you in the tavern!”

“You never go to the tavern!”

“Well, my evenings have been much freer recently,” Gaius says pointedly, and Merlin colours. “But even then, this castle is a hotbed for gossip. The people like you, Merlin. I can’t say it’s going to be easy, but you’ve more than earned some happiness.”

Merlin rests his head against Gaius’ shoulder. “You’ll still be here though, right? Even if Arthur marries me on purpose, and not in a sneak attack. You’ll make sure I won’t mess it up?”

“Merlin, I will be here whenever you need me,” Gaius promises. “But I have every faith in the future you and Arthur will build.”

Merlin pins the sigil back onto his tunic. “Did you know this belonged to Arthur’s mother?”

Gaius smiles, though it’s tinged with sadness. “I did. I recall seeing Ygraine wear it around the castle.”

“Does everyone in the castle recognise it?” Merlin asks. “Is that why I was getting odd looks?”

“Some may have recognised it,” Gaius says thoughtfully. “But it’s more likely people realised it was a token given to you from Arthur. A sign of his affection, especially as you don’t usually wear any fineries or jewellery.”

Merlin hugs Gaius abruptly, before climbing to his feet. “I need to speak to Arthur. I’ll see you later.”

“Alright, my boy.” Gaius stands himself. “I’ll make something nice for supper, so we can celebrate.”

“Thank you, Gaius. Really.”

Gaius waves his hand, but Merlin can tell he’s pleased. “Go bother Arthur. Though I have no idea how you’re going to get out of this one.”

“I don’t need to, I’m the King’s favourite,” Merlin grins, and Gaius just rolls his eyes.

-

It’s only when he’s outside Arthur’s chambers, that Merlin realises he doesn’t actually know how he’s going to get out of this one. He’s not sure the excuse of being the King’s favourite will cut it, when Merlin didn’t realise he was the King’s favourite in the first place.

Arthur is also still in that white tunic, which is doubly distracting. Merlin is in so much trouble.

“Hello, Arthur,” Merlin says brightly. “What, er, what are you doing?”

Arthur looks up from the parchment in front of him. “I’m just going over the scout’s reports. There’s been some worrying sightings to the north.”

Merlin fidgets on the spot. “Ah, right. Good.”

Arthur frowns at him. “I said they were worrying reports.”

“Oh. Bad then.”

Arthur blinks. “Merlin, is something wrong?”

“Arthur,” Merlin blurts. “If I tell you something, will you promise not to be angry?”

Arthur looks worried now, brows drawn. “Merlin, what is it? Are you hurt?”

His gaze flickers to the sigil, and he goes pale. Merlin can see the moment Arthur puts his walls up, the way his eyes shutter. “Merlin, if you’ve changed your mind - “

“Arthur!” Merlin says desperately, unable to bear the look on Arthur’s face. “That’s not it!”

Arthur is pulling away now, protecting himself in the only way he knows how. “If you want to return the sigil, there will be no consequence. You have nothing to - “

“I do want to keep it!” Merlin yelps. “I just didn’t know what it meant until five minutes ago!”

There’s a startled silence. Arthur stares at him, parchment falling from his fingers.

“I thought it was a present for my birthday,” Merlin babbles. “I didn’t realise what it meant, but then everyone kept staring at me. So I went to see Gaius and he explained it all. Explained that it was a token of the King’s esteem, that you’d picked me as your - as your favourite.”

Arthur is still staring. Merlin peers at him anxiously. “That is what it means, right? Right? Oh god, was it really just a birthday present?”

“Merlin.” Arthur cuts through his chattering. “I specifically remember asking you if you understood.”

“I thought you meant if I understood it was a present!”

Arthur shoves all the parchment off his desk. “Why would I ask if you understood that?”

“I don’t know!” Merlin yells. “I was a bit overwhelmed by the rose petals!”

Arthur buries his head in his hands. It takes Merlin a moment to realise his shoulders are shaking, and then he feels awful. “I’m sorry, Arthur. I didn’t mean to make you cry. I just didn’t understand.”

The shaking worsens. Merlin takes a step closer to the desk. “Arthur, please don’t.”

Arthur lifts his head and he’s not crying at all; he’s doubled over in laughter.

“Arthur,” Merlin snaps. “None of this is funny.”

“It is,” Arthur chokes, wiping at his eyes. “Only you, Merlin, only you could be offered a King’s token and think it was a _birthday_ _present_ \- “

He breaks off, laughing so hard he can’t speak. It makes Merlin feel all soft inside seeing Arthur like this, eyes crinkled and hair falling over his forehead. Even if he’s being a complete prat right now.

Merlin crosses his arms and waits for him to stop. Arthur eventually does this, though he relapses every so often when he sees Merlin’s expression. When he’s finally done, he pats the desk in front of him. “Come here.”

“No more laughing,” Merlin warns him. He climbs up onto the desk, legs dangling. “You’re really not angry?”

Arthur rests a hand on Merlin’s knee, leaning back into his chair. “Of course I’m not. I probably should have explained it better, but I was a bit - lost in the moment.”

“I think we both were,” Merlin admits, and they share shy, longing glances.

Arthur runs his thumb over Merlin’s thigh. “So, now that you’re fully conscious of its meaning, do you accept my gift?”

Merlin slides off Arthur’s desk and lands in his lap with a thump. “Yes, I accept your gift.”

He runs a hand over Arthur’s neck, kissing him softly. Arthur sighs into the kiss, bringing one hand up to gently skate over Merlin’s side.

“Am I going to have to wear a hat?” Merlin asks when they separate.

Arthur tilts his head to one side. “Do you want to wear a hat?”

“No.”

“Then you don’t have to wear one. But you may have to have some finer clothes.”

Merlin hums. “I can live with that. Red?”

Arthur presses a kiss to Merlin’s jaw, hands sliding under his tunic. “I thought blue. And silver.”

Merlin shudders, Arthur’s hand calloused where they’re pressed against his skin. “I like that. Do I have to wash your socks still?”

Arthur pulls a face. “No. You’ll still have some duties, but another servant can take over your more general tasks. You’ll have other things to take up your time.”

At Merlin’s look of confusion, Arthur’s eyes soften. “Merlin, you know me. I’ve never wanted to be with someone who will flounce around the castle. I’ve always welcomed your council, that won’t change now.”

Merlin stares at him. “You mean I’ll sit in on council meetings?”

Arthur smiles. “Yes, and as the King’s favourite you’ll be able to voice your opinions. You already do that when we meet with the knights, so it shouldn’t be that different. And when the magic ban is finally repealed, well. It’ll have been good practice for court sorcerer.”

“Court sorcerer?”

“Yes.” Arthur looks down nervously. “Only if you want to be, of course. But I’ll need someone to advise me on magical matters. I can’t think of anyone better suited.”

“Arthur,” Merlin says seriously. “Have you realised you’ve given me three promotions in as many minutes?”

Arthur lifts his chin. “Yes, well.”

“It’s because I’m your favourite,” Merlin announces, smirking at Arthur shuffles in his chair. “I am though, aren’t I? I am literally your favourite.”

“I take it all back,” Arthur says flatly, as his hands settle on Merlin’s hips. “You are sacked and exiled from Camelot.”

Merlin wiggles in Arthur’s lap, enjoying the way Arthur’s eyes darken. “Is that anyway to talk to your future court sorcerer?”

Arthur tips his head back against the chair. “Oh no, the power has gone to your head.”

The way he delivers it is so dry, that Merlin bursts into laughter. “It’s been my plan all along!”

“Whatever will I do to rid myself of such a threat?” Arthur drawls, grip tightening. Merlin has a good number of suggestions, which is when the door flies open for a second time.

“Gwaine!” Arthur yells, and Merlin buries his face in Arthur’s shoulder. “Have you heard of knocking?”

“I just wanted to congratulate Merlin!” Gwaine says cheerfully, wandering into the room. “The whole castle is talking about it.”

Merlin twists in Arthur’s lap. Gwaine leers at him. “I see you’ve found your own way to celebrate.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur orders. “And learn to knock.”

“Well, I can see where I’m not wanted,” Gwaine sighs. “But don’t get too carried away, we have practise in fifteen minutes. Merlin, you owe me a drink at the tavern later this week.”

“You just want all the gossip,” Merlin says accusingly, and Gwaine spreads his hands.

“You’ve caught me. Friday evening?”

“Sounds good,” Merlin agrees, and Gwaine gives him a genuine smile. “Thanks, Gwaine.”

“Don’t be late, princess,” Gwaine warns, but he’s smiling as he leaves the room.

“He’s a good friend,” Arthur says softly.

Merlin turns back around, resting his forehead against Arthur’s. “Yeah. He is.”

-

Arthur wasn’t actually joking when he said Merlin would need new clothes. It’s not the clothes that Merlin objects to; it’s the fact Arthur has to drag George into it.

“What is he doing here?” Merlin had said when he’d clasped eyes on him. Then, belatedly realising he sounded like an ass, “No offence, George.”

“None taken,” George had replied, probably genuinely, because George isn’t petty and easily angered like Merlin. “The King has requested my assistance.”

He says ‘the King has requested my assistance,’ the way other people may say, ‘the King has promised me his first born child.’

“For what?” Merlin asks suspiciously. It’s dusk, the night sky drawing around the castle. He had expected Arthur’s chambers to be empty, not occupied by another man and a large pile of clothes.

Arthur’s lip is twitching in that way it does when he’s trying not to laugh. “George here is going to help dress you.”

“Dress me for _what_!”

“You are the King’s favourite,” George states. “You must wear clothing that befits your new station.”

“And I’ve never had a favourite before,” Arthur explains helpfully. “And neither did my father. Therefore I have no idea how they are to be dressed.”

George draws himself taller. “Thankfully, I am well versed in the history of royal haberdashery.”

Merlin gapes at him. Arthur elbows him gently. “Isn’t that brilliant, Merlin?”

“If you touch me again, I will cut off your hands,” Merlin says under his breath.

Arthur seems to think this is a very funny comment, and takes a seat on his bed. He gestures at the large pile of clothes that have been carefully laid out and winks. Merlin gestures at the knife Arthur hides under his pillow.

George clears his throat. “Merlin, if you would remove your tunic.”

“Ugh.” Merlin doesn’t see any point in going behind the screen, tugging off his tunic and throwing it to the floor. “Fine, what’s first?”

George picks up a garment. “First, we must find the shades that suit your pallor.”

Merlin has the distinct feeling he’s being insulted. Either way, the first few outfits are a disaster. Merlin does not suit yellow. Or green. The pink is positively horrendous.

“I look like a blancmange,” Merlin tells George, and Arthur snorts from where he’s reclined on the bed. He is being no help whatsoever, and seems to be enjoying spending the time watching Merlin take his clothes off.

“Try the blue,” Arthur suggests. “With the silver belt.”

“Oh, you have a brilliant eye, Sire,” George gushes, rushing to the bed. He picks a few different pieces, muttering under his breath feverishly.

Merlin wanders over to his King, sprawled on his plush sheets and watching Merlin with a satisfied, wolfish possessiveness. “You’re enjoying this.”

Arthur shrugs lazily. “I enjoy watching you undress in my private chambers.”

Merlin doesn't have a chance to respond to that, because George is shoving a bundle of clothes into his arms. “I have prepared an entire outfit this time, Sire. Merlin, behind the screen please.”

Merlin takes the clothes reluctantly, disappearing behind the changing screen. He’s only tried on tunics so far, but George has gone all out this time. Merlin kicks out his boots, wiggles out of his breeches, and shouts unceremoniously, “I’m coming out now!”

He tugs at his sleeves as he walks into the middle of the room. “I’ve never worn this colour blue before, do you - Arthur? George?”

They’re both staring at him. Arthur has sat all the way up, all traces of relaxed easiness gone. George’s jaw has actually fallen open.

“Is it bad?” Merlin asks anxiously. “Do I still look like a blancmange?”

George speaks first. “The mirror.” He grabs Merlin’s elbow, guiding him over to the full length mirror that is propped up by the fireplace. “Look.”

Merlin takes one look at himself and then has to double take.

The tunic is deep blue, the colour of the night sky. There are threads of silver stitched throughout, around the collar, the wrists. The tunic has bright, silver buttons running down the middle. Merlin had attached the sigil as a last thought, and it glints in the candlelight.

He’s in black breeches, too, soft and supple as they curve to his skin. His boots are just as dark and they reach his knee, like the ones Arthur wears.

He doesn’t look like a manservant anymore. He looks like a Prince, only then Merlin imagines Aithusa, curled around his neck, and thinks, _no_, I look like a _Dragon_ _Lord_.

“Merlin,” Arthur murmurs, voice rough. “You look - “

“Magnificent,” George breathes. “Absolutely magnificent. And now, perhaps a cape - “

“A cape?” Merlin repeats in alarm, which is when the door barges open.

Arthur groans, falling back onto his bed. “Does anyone in this castle knock?”

“Apologies, Sire,” Sir Leon says. “I wouldn’t usually disturb you, but - “

His eyes fall on Merlin, and he abruptly falls silent. Merlin gives him a lopsided smile, and is delighted to see Leon turn red.

“Merlin,” Leon stammers. “You are - you look - you look very nice.”

Merlin grins. “Thank you, Leon. George is going to get me a _cape_.”

“Leon,” Arthur interrupts, voice slightly muffled from the pillow he’s holding over his face. “I presume you have a pressing and urgent reason for this interruption.”

Leon pulls himself together with a speed that is admirable. He shoves his curls away from his face, striding over to Arthur’s bed. “Most pressing. Arthur, he’s - he’s here.”

Arthur throws the pillow aside, sitting up. “Who? Who’s here?”

“_Him_,” Leon breathes, and a glance passes between them. Merlin has no idea what that look means, but it must mean something, because then Arthur is scrambling off the bed.

“Who’s here?” Merlin calls. “What’s going on?” Arthur and Leon are already halfway out of the room, and Merlin hurries to catch them. He stops just before he reaches the door. “Oh, by the way, thanks, George. You have, er, a really good eye.”

Merlin leaves before George can pass out in pleasure from the compliment. He runs after Arthur, grabbing his hand just as he turns the corner. “Arthur, who is it? Agravaine?”

“No,” Arthur answers, then appears to get distracted by Merlin’s outfit all over again.

Merlin turns to Leon, trying to ignore the way Arthur’s thumb rubs over his wrist. “Leon? Who is it?”

“The sorcerer,” Leon replies, panting only slightly. His cape flares behind him as he strides ahead.

“What sorcerer?”

“The one who saved us,” Leon explains. “Who knocked out Morgana and allowed Arthur and I to escape.”

Merlin stares at him. “He’s _here_? Why? How?”

“We’re about to find out,” Arthur says, and pushes open the doors to the great hall.

Merlin follows him across the floor, fingers still entwined in his King’s. Arthur cuts an impressive figure in red and gold, and Merlin wonders how he looks beside him in his blue and silver. Sun and moon. Two sides of the same coin indeed.

He’s so preoccupied by his thoughts, that he doesn’t notice the stranger until they’re only a few feet away. Arthur comes to a halt, Leon to his right, Merlin to his left. The stranger turns, and his hood falls down as he does so.

Merlin looks into pale eyes and gasps.

It’s Mordred.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DON'T KNOW IF YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO BE EXCITED BY YOUR OWN FICS BUT I AM SO EXCITEEEEEED
> 
> i read a whole wiki article on favourites to write this chapter - honestly, i don't know anything about medieval courting - and like? so many kings had male favourites? it was not at all an unusual thing? but no one every mentions that in history class lmaooo. not to get deep on a merlin fic but i just get sad when i think about how little lgbt+ history i actually know. sigh. like i could have guessed it - but it's neveeer covered 
> 
> anyway, on a better note, i finished shera season 5 and i cried and i would die for catra ty canon space girlfriends


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> no baby dragons in this chapter, no sex either, total cop out unless you're in it for the angst and the most awkward dinner party in existence

Merlin is frozen in place as Arthur takes a step forward. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t _think_, can only watch silently as Arthur exclaims, “It’s you!”

For a wild moment Merlin thinks Arthur recognises him too, but then he continues. “You’re the sorcerer who helped us escape. We never would have gotten away from Morgana if it wasn’t for you.”

Merlin knows this is Mordred with a certainty he can’t explain, in a way that is bone deep and has his magic snapping in his veins. He’s no longer a boy anymore; he’s a young man now, with a riot of black curls and pale, pale eyes.

Mordred ducks his head. “I only wish I had acted sooner.”

Leon moves closer. “You showed me kindness when Morgana was holding me prisoner. She was unafraid to knock me around, but you never joined in with her violence.”

“It took me too long to realise Morgana couldn’t be reasoned with,” Mordred says quietly. “When I sought Morgana out, I had no idea such hatred had infected her heart.”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “You speak as though you know her.”

“Morgana and I met when I was a young boy.” Mordred smiles, the smallest curve of his lip. “As did we. You don’t remember me, do you?”

Arthur only looks confused, and the name slips unbidden from Merlin’s lips. “Mordred.”

Mordred’s gaze catches on Merlin’s. Merlin doesn’t know what he sees there, doesn’t have the time or skill to hide whatever’s written across his face. Arthur looks between the two of them, before his eyes widen in realisation. “Mordred? The druid boy? The one who we helped escape from Camelot?”

Mordred’s voice is low, soft, when he replies. “You saved my life once, Arthur Pendragon. I have never forgotten that.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Well, you have more than repaid the debt. Morgana’s powers are strong, without your intervention I fear there would have been far graver consequences for Leon and I.”

“I agree.” Leon shudders, his face pale. “And what about you? Did you flee yourself after we did?”

Mordred nods. “Yes. I did not want to wait for Morgana to wake. I ran. I didn’t know where to go, so I travelled south for some time.” He hesitates. “That was when I heard the rumours.”

Merlin finds his voice. “What rumours?”

Merlin knows he’s been uncharacteristically quiet so far. His question disrupts the intense conversation, all eyes snapping to him.

Arthur reaches back and clasps his shoulder. “I take it you remember Merlin? He’s my - well. He was my manservant, but there’s been a few changes to his position of late.”

“We don’t need to get into that now,” Merlin says hastily. “What rumours?”

Mordred fidgets; he’s trying not to, but Merlin can see how his fingers grip his cloak. “I heard - I heard rumours that the druids have returned to Camelot.”

“Those particular rumours are true,” Arthur says proudly. “The druids have been trading within Camelot for over a month now.”

Something twinges painfully in Merlin’s chest at the soft noise of surprise Mordred makes. His expression, so solemn up until now, is one of disbelief.

“It’s true?” Mordred asks. “It’s really true?”

“It’s true,” Arthur says gently. “Though you’ve missed the days they usually trade.”

“One day in the working week,” Leon explains. “But recently they’ve begun to trade at the Saturday markets, too. By all accounts it’s been quite successful.”

Mordred inhales. “And the druids they’re not - they’re free to trade? They are not harmed?”

“No, whilst they are within the city they are under my protection,” Arthur reassures him. “Though we haven’t had many issues, have we, Sir Leon?”

“Not as many as we thought there may be,” Leon muses. “It’s taken some time for the people to adjust, the druids too. Both sides were apprehensive at first, but the markets are thriving.”

Mordred looks stunned. Arthur softens, smiling slightly. “Are you planning to stay in Camelot? The druids will be returning to trade in a few days time, you’d be able to see for yourself.”

“I hadn’t planned that far ahead,” Mordred admits. “I could find somewhere in the lower town - “

“Nonsense,” Arthur cuts in. “You can stay in the castle, there are more than enough rooms. And tomorrow you’ll dine with me, tell me the whole story.”

Mordred gasps. “I couldn’t, Sire, that’s - “

“I insist,” Arthur says firmly. “It’s the least I could do. But it’s getting late. You must be tired after travelling for so long. I’ll get a servant to show you to a room.”

Merlin can’t quite believe what’s happening and it all happens so quickly. Arthur calls for someone to lead Mordred to a spare chamber. Mordred is still staring at Arthur like he can’t quite believe he’s real. Just before he leaves the hall, he looks at Merlin, and Merlin feels his stomach clench.

“I can’t believe it,” Arthur says after Mordred has left. “That’s really the druid boy?”

“The druid boy you illegally smuggled out of Camelot?” Leon says archly, and Arthur winces. “Never told me about that one, Arthur.”

“Must have slipped my mind,” Arthur shrugs, and Leon pulls a face at him.

“Well, it’s a good thing you did. Otherwise neither you or I would be here.” Leon frowns. “You were right not to tell me, not when I remember how determined Uther was to hunt the boy down. Are you feeling alright, Merlin? You look pale.”

Merlin flinches. “I’m fine.”

Arthur turns to him. He lifts a hand to cup Merlin’s face. Merlin has the sudden urge to pull away from Arthur’s touch, but refrains at the last moment. “You do look pale. Well. Paler than usual.”

“I have a headache,” Merlin mumbles. “I should - I’ll go see if Gaius has a potion for it or something.”

Arthur looks concerned now, which only adds guilt to the concoction of emotions churning in Merlin’s chest. He runs a thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone, tapping it once gently. “That’s a good idea. You should get some rest, too.” He pauses. “You could sleep in my chambers, if you like.”

It feels as though there’s a hand tightening around Merlin’s throat. “Thank you, but by the time Gaius has fussed over me you’ll be out cold. I’d only wake you.”

“I wouldn’t mind,” Arthur says idly, but he drops his hand to Merlin’s shoulder instead. “I understand. When I’m unwell, I only want to sleep in my own bed, too.”

If Merlin speaks he will choke on this poisonous burn in his mouth. Instead he only nods, squeezing Arthur’s hand. He slips away and leaves Arthur and Leon to their conversation, deep in discussion.

-

“It’s Mordred,” Merlin announces the moment the door swings closed behind him. “Mordred is here.”

Gaius looks up at him in alarm. He does a double take when he sees what Merlin is wearing. Merlin had completely forgotten he was dressed in his new clothes; it seems a lifetime ago that George dressed him, Arthur’s eyes affectionate and warm in the candlelight.

“Mordred is here?” Gaius repeats. “In the castle?”

Merlin sits down heavily. “Yes.”

“But how? Why?”

“It was him who saved Leon and Arthur.” Merlin squeezes his eyes shut. “Back when Morgana had them held captive. He was the sorcerer who knocked Morgana out, who stopped her and allowed them both to escape.”

“That was Mordred?” Gaius asks in shock. “I suppose Arthur wouldn’t have recognised him at the time, not all these years later. Neither would Leon. Where is he now? What brought him to Camelot?”

“He’s in one of the spare chambers,” Merlin says blankly. “Arthur’s put him up for the night. Here. In the castle. And he said he came to Camelot after he heard the druids were trading within the city again. He said - he said he didn’t know where else to go.”

He burrows his head in his hands. The dread he’s feeling overwhelms him, fear and confusion forcing his eyes shut. And underneath it all, always underneath it all, there’s shame; bitter and years old.

“I confess I do not know what to say,” Gaius admits. “I never thought that - Merlin?”

Absently, Merlin notes that he is trembling. Gaius stands up, walking over to him. “Merlin, what is it?”

Merlin lifts his head. “The dragon said Mordred is destined to bring about Arthur’s death. And now he’s here, in the castle. Things were going so well, Arthur knows about my magic, the druids are back within Camelot, we’re courting, and now this.”

“Merlin,” Gaius says in alarm. “Merlin, calm yourself - “

“I can’t!” Merlin shakes his head. “I _can’t_, what if he intends to hurt Arthur? What if this is all some plot to - to. I don’t even know. Pretend to befriend him and then - then - “

Gaius grips his arm tightly. “Merlin, I need you to breathe for me. If you continue to work yourself up, you’ll make yourself ill. Come on, breathe with me.”

Merlin scrunches his eyes shut, tries to focus on Gaius’ steady counting. Ten beats in, ten beats out. It does help clear the fog in his head, dulls the edge of panic in his ribs.

“Now,” Gaius says once Merlin has calmed. “Mordred helped Arthur and Leon escape from Morgana, correct?”

“He knocked her out with a spell.” Merlin rubs at his eyes. “Arthur said he never would have escaped without him. And Leon.” Merlin swallows. “Leon said Mordred showed him kindness. He never - he never joined in with Morgana’s treatment of him.”

Gaius rubs his back in slow, comforting circles. “And Mordred said he returned to Camelot because he heard about the druid’s return?”

“That’s what he said,” Merlin mumbles. “He couldn’t believe it. That’s why Arthur offered to let him stay, so Mordred can see the druids for himself when they arrive later this week.”

Gaius hums thoughtfully. Merlin leans his head against Gaius’ shoulder, breathes in and wishes he was back in Ealdor with his mother. She’d know what to do. And even if she didn’t, Merlin would feel better for seeing her.

“Merlin,” Gaius says carefully. “Have you considered how people can change?”

“The dragon _said_ Mordred’s fate was tied to Arthur’s.”

“The dragon does not know the future.” Merlin lifts his head, but Gaius continues. “He doesn’t. None of us do. There are always different paths. There is always a choice.”

“And I’m supposed to just let Mordred make his?” Merlin rasps.

Gaius sighs. “We don’t know what his choice will be yet. Besides, your own decisions have already changed the Camelot he’s returned to.”

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean?”

“Mordred’s people are free to trade in Camelot once again,” Gaius says quietly. “He will see for himself the steps Arthur is making to bring back the old ways. And then there is you.”

“Me?” Merlin exclaims.

“Mordred knows you have magic,” Gaius reminds him. “And if he stays in Camelot long enough, he’ll learn of Arthur’s feelings for you. That Arthur is courting a sorcerer.”

“He’s going to find out sooner than that.” Merlin shakes his head incredulously. “Arthur has invited him to dine with us, tomorrow night. He wants to hear Mordred’s story.”

Gaius looks as though he wants to say more, but must decide against it. Merlin is glad; his mind is so tangled that he just wants to sleep now. Perhaps Arthur was right about sleeping in his own bed, though that’s not why he declined the offer. He wouldn’t have been able to lie beside Arthur with such thoughts plaguing him.

“I’m going to bed,” Merlin says abruptly. “I don’t know what to do. And I don’t want to think about this anymore.”

“Some rest would do you good,” Gaius agrees, though he still sounds worried. “We can speak more in the morning.”

Merlin climbs to his feet and walks to his room. He throws himself down on his bed, pulls the covers over his head, and tries his best to just pass out.

-

It’s not a conscious decision, but he avoids Arthur the next day. It’s not difficult, not when they’re both so busy with their respective tasks and duties. It’s easy for Merlin to throw himself into some jobs for Gaius and lose track of time. Still, the day passes like sand through his fingers; he blinks and evening has already fallen.

Merlin trudges to Arthur’s chambers just before dinner. He’s already decided he can’t tell Arthur about the dragon’s words, not now, not while he knows so little about Mordred’s intentions. Lying to Arthur is a habit he’d been blissfully spared from for some time and returning to the habit feels stifling, toxic.

He’s already vowed to tell Arthur the truth as soon as he is able. Merlin will not slide back into lying as easily as breathing.

The dining table is already prepared when he arrives, silver set out and plates of food heaped high. There are three places set.

“Merlin,” Arthur greets him. “I’m sorry, it’s been one meeting after the other today.”

“Were any of them interesting?” Merlin asks, taking the seat to Arthur’s left. “What is the latest grain count?”

“I don’t dare ask,” Arthur mutters darkly, and they both snigger.

Arthur takes his own chair at the head of the table. He reaches for Merlin’s hand, brushing a kiss over his knuckles. Merlin promptly feels like the worst being in existence. “How is your head?”

“Better after some rest.” It’s only half a lie. The pounding behind his eyes has lessened somewhat.

“Good.” Arthur lets go of Merlin’s hand to take a sip of his goblet. “I still can’t believe that it’s Mordred. Who would have thought he’d ever return to Camelot?”

Merlin fiddles with his knife. “Certainly not me.”

“I did wonder what happened to that little boy,” Arthur muses. “I never thought I’d see him again, that’s for sure. If he’s a druid, that means he has magic, doesn’t it?”

“What?” Merlin frowns at him. “I mean, yes. Mordred has magic.”

“And he knows about your magic?” Arthur hazards, rolling his eyes at Merlin’s double take. “Oh, don’t look so shocked, Merlin. I can put some things together. All the druids seem to know about your magic. Besides, you and Morgana were hiding the boy for days before I found out. I bet you used magic to do it.”

“Perhaps a little,” Merlin admits, and Arthur throws back his head and laughs.

Merlin wants to tell him then, wants to let everything he’s feeling spill out, but he can’t. There’s something stopping him, a border he can’t cross. And then the moment is gone and it’s too late anyway.

“Did you see his face when he learnt the druids were back in Camelot?” Arthur looks pensive. “It must be a huge relief for him, to know his people are no longer persecuted. I only wish I’d - well. We can’t change the past, can we? I can only hope my future actions as King prove to him how I’ve changed.”

Merlin stares at him. “You feel the need to prove yourself?”

Arthur shrugs. “I suppose. In a way. He was only a boy, then. Seeing him today - it made me think about how scared he must have felt. _I_ was frightened! Betraying my father like that, creeping around the castle. I can only imagine how it was for him.”

Arthur looks at him from beneath his lashes. “Besides, you - you know my history with the druids. It’s a subject I’m more - sensitive to.”

Merlin feels his heart squeeze in his chest. He’d been so lost in his own thoughts, that he hadn’t even considered how Arthur would be feeling. Arthur helped smuggle Mordred out of the castle, openly defying his father and risking everything. If he’d been caught, Merlin shudders to think what Uther would have done. Especially as he’d already been incensed by Morgana’s earlier attempts to help the boy,

No wonder Arthur is feeling reflective. Merlin goes to speak, but then there’s a tentative knock at the door.

“Come,” Arthur calls, and Merlin stiffens as Mordred enters the room. He hesitates by the door frame, but Arthur beckons him forward. “Ah, Mordred. Please take a seat.”

Mordred takes the chair across from Merlin, to the right of Arthur, and Merlin mentally curses his seating choices. What was already shaping up to be the most uncomfortable dinner party of the century, is only made worse by having Mordred sat directly opposite. Talk about awkward.

“Thank you for inviting me to dine with you, my Lord,” Mordred says quietly. “You are most gracious.”

“And you are most welcome,” Arthur smiles. “I’ve already told you, it’s the least I can do. How are your rooms?”

“They are very luxurious.” Mordred ducks his head. “They are a welcome change from the places I have slept over the years.”

Arthur refills his goblet, then takes Merlin’s and does the same. “Tell me, how did you come to find yourself by Morgana’s side? Last time I saw you, you had been returned safely to the druids.”

Mordred takes a deep breath. “After you returned me to the druids, I stayed with them for some time. I travelled with the druids, sometimes with other magic users. Sometimes on my own.”

Merlin keeps his eyes resolutely on his food, but Mordred does not mention the second time they met, when Mordred had been travelling with the bandits.

Mordred pauses. “It was not easy. There are those who are frightened of sorcery. And then there are those who seek to exploit it, to use it as a weapon. Even those who have it themselves.”

Arthur leans forward, frowning. “How so?”

To his surprise, Mordred hesitates, looking to Merlin. Merlin doesn’t know what he’s seeking from him - reassurance? Encouragement to continue his tale?

Merlin has no idea what Mordred wants him to do, but something compels him to say, “Arthur knows about my magic.”

Arthur glances at him, tilting his head to one side. Merlin clears his throat, feeling uncertain, his words clumsy. “I don’t - if that’s what you’re worried about. He won’t - you can speak openly. If you want to.”

Merlin immediately busies himself with the dishes on the table, cheeks burning. After a minute, Mordred continues. “Even for a druid, my gifts, my abilities, they are - strong. There are those, even those with magic, who would want to use it for their own gain. Their own purpose. It was often safer to just travel alone.”

“That sounds lonely,” Arthur observes quietly.

Mordred grips his own cup. “It was, at times. When I heard rumours of Morgana, I was filled with hope. She was so kind to me as a child, so compassionate. I sought her out, I thought she’d be as I remembered.”

Arthur sighs. “Morgana is not the person she once was. Her heart is twisted with hatred. She will stop at nothing to destroy me, to destroy Camelot. You’ve seen the power she wields, the magic she has. Yet she uses it to do nothing but cause pain and suffering. I do not understand it.”

Merlin places a hand on Arthur’s arm. “Arthur, we won’t let her hurt anyone else. I promise. She will not take Camelot again.”

Arthur covers Merlin’s hand with his own. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“I thought Morgana could be reasoned with, but she is overcome by bitterness,” Mordred adds quietly. “Once I saw how she was, I did not wish to be part of that. And I already owed you a debt.”

“Which you have now repaid,” Arthur returns. “Of course, you are welcome to stay in Camelot as long as you wish. Your people are under my protection when they enter this city.”

Mordred flushes, eyes wide. “Thank you.”

Arthur waves his hand. “Besides, if you stay in Camelot, you can tell me about this secret druid name Merlin has.”

“Arthur!” Merlin hisses.

Arthur grins at him. “Well, you still haven’t explained it yet, and Mordred is a druid. I bet he’d tell me.”

Mordred turns white. He looks to Arthur, then Merlin, then back again. “I - my Lord, I am uncertain what - “

Merlin shoves Arthur’s arm. “Don’t be an ass. I will tell you eventually, I’ve been a little busy saving your neck.”

“I haven’t had a near death encounter for ages now,” Arthur says dismissively. “It’s been a quiet month.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “No it hasn’t.”

“Quieter than some,” Arthur amends. “No assassination attempts for a few weeks now.”

“Which only means there is undoubtedly one coming up,” Merlin shoots back. “Clearly I can’t let you out of my sight.”

“As if you want to,” Arthur teases.

Mordred clears his throat. “Forgive me, but are you - “

Arthur turns to him. “Hm?”

“Are you two wedded?” Mordred asks slowly, and Merlin chokes on his wine.

Arthur has gone beet red. Merlin is still having trouble breathing, so he has to be the one to reply. “No, I - we’re not - no. Not wedded. No.”

It’s Mordred’s turn to go red. “I meant no offence, it’s only - “

Arthur coughs. “Merlin and I are courting. I hope to make him my consort. One day, anyway, there are - many things to consider right now.”

“Because he has magic?”

“Because I have magic, because I’m a servant, because I’m not even from Camelot.” Merlin smiles at Arthur wryly. “Take your pick.”

“That must be difficult for you,” Mordred ventures. “To have to hide.”

“It’s not,” Merlin says immediately. “Now is not the time for Arthur to choose a consort. There are more important matters at stake. Besides, I don’t need validation from the court. The people who matter know the truth, that is more than enough.”

He doesn’t even know why he says it. Maybe Merlin doesn’t need validation, but he does look forward to the day he and Arthur can be together openly. And it is hard, it’s just recently that Merlin had stopped hiding a great many things. But Mordred speaks and this ugly, fearful part of Merlin just wants to - snap. Lash out.

His words are curt. It’s the most he’s said all night, and Arthur has noticed if the look he gives him is any indication. He’s well practised in smoothing over conversations, however, and turns back to Mordred with a pleasant smile.

“It’s true, the court isn’t ready for a consort yet. But they are aware of my feelings. Anything worth fighting for takes time, and hard work.” Arthur lifts his glass in a toast. “I have faith in the future to come, even if I am impatient for it.”

“I only have to wait a few days to see the druids in Camelot again, though I think I am just as impatient,” Mordred admits, and Arthur laughs.

Merlin doesn’t laugh. He pushes his food around his plate and listens to Arthur and Mordred exchange pleasantries. He notices, because he can’t not, how Mordred fumbles with his cutlery, how he eats like a man unaccustomed to having regular meals. Merlin knows what that looks like, after a childhood of fickle winters and poor harvests.

The meal draws to a natural close. Mordred leaves for his chambers, Arthur reminding him again which day the market falls on. Merlin stays in his chair, then gets to his feet all too quickly when he realises he and Arthur are now alone.

Arthur hums. “I thought that went well - Merlin?”

“My headache has returned,” Merlin manages. “I’m going to see Gaius again.”

He moves to brush past him, but Arthur catches his arm. “Merlin, wait!”

Merlin fidgets, reluctantly coming to a stop. Arthur peers at him. “Is that why you’ve been so quiet? Normally I can’t get you to stop chattering.” When Merlin doesn’t snap something back, Arthur’s brow furrows. “I thought you’d be eager to talk to Mordred.”

Merlin startles. “What? Why would you think that?”

“Mordred is a druid, he has magic,” Arthur says slowly. “Moreover, he knows about your magic, too. You don’t know any other sorcerers in Camelot, and even if you did, it’d be too risky to let them know about your own powers. You always talk about how lonely it can be, I suppose I thought you’d want to speak with him.”

Merlin carefully pulls himself free from Arthur’s grip. “I’m feeling unwell, is all. I’m sure I’ll get the chance to see him again, now that he’s staying in Camelot.”

It’s only slightly bitter. Arthur must not be able to catch it, because he relaxes a bit. His hair is burnished gold in the candlelight, his eyes blue fire.

“Can I stay?” Merlin blurts.

Arthur blinks at him. “You just said you were going to see Gaius.”

  
“Oh. Right.”

Arthur lifts his chin with one finger. “Merlin, I was only teasing. Of course you can stay. How badly did you hit your head?”

“I didn’t hit it, I just have a headache,” Merlin mutters, and Arthur snorts.

He takes Merlin’s hand, leading him over to the bed. Merlin jumps when Arthur puts his hands on Merlin’s shoulders, pushing him down to sit on the edge. “Arms out.”

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks, obediently lifting his arms up.

Arthur carefully helps Merlin out of his tunic and realisation hits him all at once. Merlin gasps, but Arthur only sinks to his knees. He wraps one hand around Merlin’s thigh for balance, then begins to deftly unlace Merlin’s boot.

“Arthur.” Tears sting in the corners of his eyes, as warmth spreads through his chest. “You don’t have to - “

Arthur just shushes him. He pulls off the other boot, pairing them neatly by the side of the bed. Merlin doesn’t have any sleeping clothes in Arthur’s chambers, but Arthur presses one of his worn tunics into his hands.

Arthur undresses himself as Merlin pulls it on. Merlin feels bone tired now; wrought with exhaustion. Ironically, his head has begun to pound, a drumbeat behind his eyelids that he can’t shake.

He crawls under the covers. He can hear Arthur shuffling around still, stoking the fire before he blows out the candles. Then he slides in behind Merlin, strong arms circling Merlin’s waist.

“I could have called for one of the servants to bring a tonic,” Arthur murmurs. He presses his mouth to Merlin’s shoulder, a lingering kiss.

Merlin grips Arthur’s wrists where they cover his stomach, feels the steady beat of his pulse. “I just want to sleep now.”

“Okay.”

Merlin can’t bring himself to close his eyes yet, so he stares at the wall opposite him and watches the shadows darken. He’s sure Arthur must be asleep, and perhaps that’s why he has the courage to whisper, “Arthur?”

“Hm? What is it?”

Merlin swallows. “You know I am going to tell you why the druids call me Emrys, don’t you? I will, one day.”

Arthur rests his forehead between Merlin’s shoulder blades. “I know. I said it before, you need only tell me when you’re ready. I was only joking during dinner.”

“Okay,” Merlin says, even though nothing feels okay at all. “As long as you know.”

“I do,” Arthur murmurs. “You should try to get some sleep. You’ll feel better in the morning.”

Merlin seriously doubts that.

-

He doesn’t feel much better in the morning, still troubled by thoughts of Mordred, past memories clouding his mind like fog. He’s distracted on his walk to the armoury, and he almost jumps out of his skin when a body barrels into him. “What - Gwaine?”

It’s not just Gwaine, it’s Percival too, smothering him in an embrace. Leon is lent against a pillar, grinning and generally being no help whatsoever.

“Okay,” Merlin wheezes. “You can put me down now.”

“Why would we do that?” Gwaine grins. “This is a momentous occasion.”

Merlin groans, going limp. Struggling is clearly futile, “Is that what this is about?”

“Never thought I’d see the day you and Arthur finally got your act together.” Gwaine pauses. “Well, in an official capacity.”

“Our Merlin,” Percival coos, ruffling his hair. “Favourite of the King.”

Gwaine grips his shoulders and stares straight into Merlin’s eyes. “You’ll remember us, Merlin, won’t you? When you and Arthur are finally wed?”

Merlin wrenches away. “I’ll remember how much of a dick you were.”

“Ah, so you and Arthur do plan to marry?”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Merlin snaps, and Gwaine bursts into laughter. Merlin looks to Leon helplessly. “Did you have anything to do with this?”

“Honestly, I talked them down,” Leon shrugs. “You should have heard the other suggestions. Gwaine wanted to make a banner.”

“Was it romantic?” Gwaine asks him seriously. “A lot of background work went into that proposal.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “I knew you were all involved! Percival, were you responsible for the rose petals?”

“Did you like them?” Percival asks eagerly, which is unfair, because Merlin can’t be mean to the knights when they are being genuine and kind and noble.

“They were very nice,” Merlin admits through gritted teeth. “And yes, it was very romantic. No, I’m not going to go into details.”

“Can I see the sigil?” Percival asks, so Merlin unclips it from his tunic and passes it to him.

Percival takes it carefully, and the knights crowd around to see. Gwaine hooks his chin over Percival’s shoulder for a better look.

“It was his mothers, wasn’t it?” Leon says quietly.

Merlin nods. “Did you know her?”

“No, I’m only a few years older than Arthur. I was too young to remember the Queen” Leon advises. “But Arthur told me that was the token he wanted to choose.”

“Ah, so you were in on it too,” Merlin says accusingly. “What about the wrestling? How does that fit into all of this?”

“Er, no. That was just wrestling.”

Merlin shakes his head, trying not to laugh. It’s the lightest he’s felt in the past two days, here, safe in the armoury, surrounded by his friends.

Percival hands the sigil back to him. “It’s in the shape of a bird. Like your name.”

“That is very romantic,” Gwaine says approvingly. “Who knew Arthur was such a sap?”

“We all knew that.” Leon snorts. “Honestly, Merlin, he never shuts up about you.”

“Who never shuts up?” Arthur asks, walking into the armoury. “Are we bad mouthing Gwaine again?”

“That is exactly what we’re doing,” Leon says quickly. “Who remembers that time Gwaine set his socks on fire?”

“Leon!” Gwaine snaps, and Leon winks at Merlin discreetly.

Whilst Gwaine is challenging Leon to a duel for the slight on his honour, Arthur sidles up to Merlin. His eyes fall to the sigil still in Merlin’s hands, and concern flashes in his eyes. “Did you take it off?”

“The others wanted to see it,” Merlin explains, and carefully pins it back in place. “The knights were telling me how they helped you plan everything.”

“Yes, well,” Arthur says, then kisses him in a clear ploy to get Merlin to stop talking.

Merlin can’t say he minds too much. He lets Arthur press him against the wall, his hands gently cradling his face to stop Merlin’s head bumping against the stone. Arthur’s mouth tastes sweet, and his tongue brushes against Merlin’s as the kiss deepens.

Merlin could lose himself in this, in the heat of Arthur’s hands, in the taste of his mouth. He almost does, almost lets himself sink down and down, but they’re rudely interrupted by a riot of whistling and cat calls.

Merlin does let his head thump back against the brick then, curling his fingers into Arthur’s belt loops. Arthur glowers at the knights, twisting so he can shout at them over his shoulder. “You’re all on dawn patrol for the next month!”

Merlin sighs, and Arthur turns back to him. “Sorry about them. How’s the headache?”

“Gwaine is still here, isn’t he?” Merlin says, pitching his voice so Gwaine can hear, and receiving a dirty look in return.

Arthur laughs, leaning in close again. Merlin decides he doesn’t like Arthur in chain mail, because it makes it very difficult to touch Arthur anywhere. He can’t reach under Arthur’s tunic and feel the soft skin of his stomach. He can’t run his hands over Arthur’s chest, or trace the scar on Arthur’s collarbone. He settles instead for sliding his hand into Arthur’s hair, carding through the soft strands.

Arthur bears his petting without complaint, even leaning into it like a pleased cat at one point. In return, Arthur’s hand goes to Merlin’s hip, rubbing over the bone.

“You’re tactile today,” Arthur comments after a while.

“Am I?” Merlin says lightly.

“Yes,” Arthur hums. “Though you weren’t this morning, which isn’t a surprise given I woke up alone.”

“Then clearly I’m making up for lost time,” Merlin shrugs. He drops his hand from Arthur’s hair, resting it on Arthur’s shoulder instead. “I woke early and couldn’t get back to sleep. I didn’t want to disturb you, too.”

That’s true, at least, even if Arthur doesn’t know yet what disrupted his sleep.

“You wouldn’t have disturbed me.” Arthur pauses. “Well, you do disturb me sometimes. Greatly. But not in this case.” He nudges Merlin’s cheek. “Ah, at least that coaxed a smile out of you.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, but he can’t deny it. “Well, that’s alright then. We’re done for the day, everyone go home.”

“Not before I give the knights a thrashing at least,” Arthur says thoughtfully. “Though I think Gwaine is actually serious about fighting Leon for his honour.”

Merlin peers over Arthur’s shoulder and winces. “My money's on Gwaine. He looks pretty worked up.”

“Well, at least this should be interesting,” Arthur sighs. He entwines their fingers, tugging Merlin forward. “Though I’m betting on Leon.”

“Only because Leon is your best friend.”

“Isn’t that why you’re betting on Gwaine?”

“Fair point.”

Merlin tightens his grip on Arthur’s hand. He wants to rest his head on Arthur’s shoulder, wants to dig his heels into the ground and refuse to go anywhere. But if he does that then Arthur will definitely know something is up, and Merlin’s treading a thin line as it is.

He’s only going to be able to hide how awful he’s feeling from Arthur for so long. And Merlin’s started to think that if Arthur doesn’t figure it out, Merlin is just going to blurt it all out anyway.

“Come on then,” Merlin says loudly, squeezing Arthur’s hand once before letting go. “Gwaine, you’re not actually going to fight Leon over socks, are you?”

“Damn straight I am,” Gwaine scowls. “Leon swore on the knight’s code he’d never bring that up again.”

Gwaine slings an arm around Merlin’s neck, dragging him closer. “Besides, I’m clearly going to win.”

“I know,” Merlin lies. “I’ve already bet on you.”

“I knew I could rely on you.” Gwaine nudges him. “Hey, you didn’t forget we’re meeting at the tavern later, did you?”

“No,” Merlin says weakly. “Of course not.”

“Good. Because we have a lot to talk about.” Gwaine lowers his voice. “I know you’re over the moon, but it’s a big change, yeah? Lots of pressure on your shoulders, and Arthur’s. Be good to get out of the castle for a bit.”

“Definitely,” Merlin manages, privately thinking_ oh my god, I am never going to get through this._

Gwaine slaps him on the back. “Good lad. Right, are you ready to come cheer me on whilst I put Leon in the dirt?”

“That’s never going to happen,” Leon scoffs, tightening his vambraces. “Percival isn’t even betting on you.”

Gwaine gasps. “Is that true, Percival?”

Percival shrugs. “I’m sorry, babe, but you know Leon is going to kick your arse.”

“See if I suck you off in the armoury later,” Gwaine huffs, and everyone shouts at him.

“Let’s just get on with it,” Arthur groans, striding from the room.

The knights troop after him, Leon trying to cover Gwaine’s mouth and Gwaine doing his best to fight him off. Percival is laughing, and he snags Merlin’s wrist seemingly without thinking, pulling him along.

Merlin stumbles after them, dizzy with the fear of how much he has to lose.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the pacing in these next few chapters is so important to me. i don't want to rush anything, but at the same time i am so eager to get to where this story is going! it's a weird balancing act, hopefully this chapter doesn't feel too forced
> 
> remember when arthur was told mordred's name as a boy ... then reminded of it ... but then the show acted like arthur had forgotten mordred was a druid??? WHAT EVEN WAS THAT
> 
> little side note, i watched the episode where mordred is young and with the bandits cause they want to steal the crystal thing, and like... i took from that there were people who'd want to use his gifts for their own gain. also, something really saddens me about the scene where mordred meets morgana again for the first time, and he's eating so quickly and like he hasn't had a full meal for while, and like... i just ran with that, my heart is so sad 
> 
> ugh i want to get into all my thoughts on mordred, but i can't cause it'll spoil the story going forward, but what i will say is that i'm not going to treat him the way bbc merlin did, that's for sure 
> 
> anyway comments are the best


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it was a shit week this week but it got better towards the end. hopefully you'll all enjoy this chapter!

Merlin doesn’t tell the dragon that Mordred is back.

He doesn’t tell him, because he knows what he’ll say. He’ll say Merlin should kill him. He’ll say that Merlin should have killed Mordred all those years ago.

Just thinking of the past makes his stomach clench. Merlin may be many things, but he’s not a murderer. And he certainly doesn’t kill _children_. His indecision over helping Mordred escape the castle has never been a memory he likes to recall, saturated with guilt and shame.

He can’t pretend his reaction to Mordred isn’t caused in part by his own feelings, by his own role in all of this. Yes, pushing Mordred away means Merlin doesn’t have to look him in the eye, doesn’t have to think about Arthur’s lifeless body, about what Kilgarah said would happen, about a future that could never come to pass.

But it also means, selfishly, that Merlin won’t see the judgement in Mordred’s eyes, judgement that must surely be there given how Merlin acted towards him as a child.

It’s a mess. It’s a tangle of thread that Merlin has no idea how to undo. The past, the present, the future, all knotted together, with no way out. If there is one, Merlin can’t see it. Or perhaps Merlin just thinks that - what if Gaius is right? What if there is always a choice? What if there’s not? What if Arthur dies?

It’s enough to make him scream. He just might, not that it’d do any good.

Still. At least he knows one thing.

He’s not telling the dragon anything.

-

Gwaine comes knocking for him later that day. He’s holding two bottles of ale and announces cheerfully, “We’re no longer going to the tavern. We’re drinking in my chambers, more classy that way.”

Merlin had been in no mood to leave the castle. He can’t guess how Gwaine knew that, but then again Gwaine is often more perceptive than people think. Either way he’s grateful for it, leaning into the casual arm Gwaine throws around his shoulders.

If there was ever a time to drink it’d be now, so he and Gwaine take a bottle each. They sit with their backs to Gwaine’s bed, legs sprawled out in front of them.

“So.” Gwaine clinks his bottle against Merlin’s. “King’s favourite.”

“King’s favourite,” Merlin repeats. “Who’d have thought it?”

“I think I did,” Gwaine says contemplatively. “Not just because Arthur can’t shut up about you, but because there’s always been something there. What’s next then? King’s consort?”

“Eventually.” Merlin usually hates ale, but this one is to his tastes, sweet and light. “There’s a great many things to do before then.”

“Lift the ban on magic.”

“Stop Agravaine betraying Arthur.”

“Defeat Morgana.”

“Piece of cake,” Gwaine grins. “We’ll have you down the aisle in no time.”

“I’m sure you will,” Merlin smiles, but his voice sounds hollow to his own ears.

Gwaine gives him a long look. After a moment, he reaches out and carefully lowers Merlin’s hand where it’s lifting the bottle to his lips for a third time. Merlin frowns at him, but Gwaine’s eyes are kind.

“Merlin, what’s troubling you?” Gwaine asks quietly. “You haven’t been yourself of late. I saw you in the armoury, you looked as though you hadn’t slept for a week.”

Merlin stares down at his boots. Gwaine nudges his shoulder gently. “Is it because of all this? I know it’s a big change, no one would blame you for feeling overwhelmed.”

“It’s not,” Merlin mumbles. “It’s not Arthur, I mean.”

“Well, that’s good. I won’t have to duel him too.” Gwaine’s face falls when Merlin doesn’t laugh. “Merlin, you don’t have to tell me. But it might help, having someone to share the problem with.”

Merlin is feeling frightened and anxious and alone. In that moment, he can’t see a reason not to tell Gwaine, or least tell him some of it. It certainly can’t make him feel any worse.

“I’m scared,” Merlin whispers. “I’m scared of something that’s going to happen - or might happen. Maybe. I don’t know. It’s just - do you believe in destiny?”

Gwaine tilts his head to one side. “After all we’ve seen, I’d be silly not to believe that there’s more at work in this world. Forces I don’t understand.”

Merlin feels his heart sink, but then Gwaine continues. “But even with all that, I still believe our choices are our own.”

Merlin stares at him. “You do?”

Gwaine nods. “I do. Look at me. All that time running, hiding. Yeah, meeting you, meeting the princess, it set me on the right path, but I’m the one who chose to walk it. That was my decision and my decision alone.”

“You weren’t running, Gwaine,” Merlin protests. “Or hiding.”

“Wasn’t I?” Gwaine asks wryly, gesturing to his battle. “I’m sure I told the bottom of my tankard that, once or twice. Doesn’t matter now, I got there in the end. Anyway, that’s not the point.”

Gwaine leans in closer, resting a hand on Merlin’s arm. “Merlin, the moment you believe you have no choice, is the moment there stops being one.”

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean?”

Gwaine shrugs. “I mean that it’s easy to back yourself into the corner, when you’re already convinced there’s no way out. And that’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous?” Merlin repeats. “Why is it dangerous?”

“Because it makes you scared,” Gwaine says quietly. “That feeling of having no control, no say in what’s coming next - it’s frightening. It makes us act in ways we wouldn’t usually.”

Merlin feels bile rise in his throat. He knows all about that.

Gwaine nudges his shoulder. “Hey. You know what's the worst thing to do if you feel like that?”

Merlin doesn’t answer, but Gwaine doesn’t seem to mind. “Worry about it on your own. Close yourself off from everyone else. It only makes it ten times worse. And then you really start to feel like you’re trapped.”

“What if it’s not just what you’ll do?” Merlin sets his bottle down abruptly, the glass clinking against the stone floor. “What if you’re scared about what someone else might do?”

“Has this person done something to make you mistrust them?”

“This is a completely hypothetical situation.” Merlin manages, voice rough.

“Ah, right. Of course,” Gwaine says seriously. “Has this person - hypothetically - caused you harm in the past? Or threatened those you care for?”

Merlin feels guilt bubble up in his throat, cloying as it wraps around his lungs. “No, not in the past.”

He supposes Mordred did knock out those knights, but then they were pointing swords at him after Merlin had caused that branch to grow. He can’t really blame Mordred for escaping from Uther’s men when he’d been cornered.

Merlin rubs at his eyes. “No, I was the one to do that. I thought I was doing the right thing, I thought I was doing what was necessary. But I couldn’t go through with it.”

Gwaine squeezes his shoulder. “Merlin, we’ve all done things that keep us awake at night. Especially when we’re trying to protect those most dear to us.” He hesitates. “You said you couldn’t go through with it? Perhaps that tells you something.”

Merlin mulls that over. He pulls his knees to his chest, resting his chin on his crossed arms.

“Merlin,” Gwaine says softly. “I’m so sorry.”

Merlin sniffs. “What for? You haven’t done anything.”

“For having to deal with this alone for so many years.” Gwaine shakes his head. “It can’t have been easy.”

“It wasn’t,” Merlin admits. “But it’s better now. You, Arthur, even the rest of the knights. You all know about my magic. I don’t think even I realised how heavy the burden was, until I was free of it.”

“And now you’re frightened of losing all of that?” Gwaine guesses.

Merlin laughs, wet and a little rough, but a laugh nonetheless. “You know, Gwaine, you’re a lot smarter than people give you credit for.”

“True,” Gwaine grins. “Though not you. You’ve always seen the best in people, Merlin. You were the first person to believe in me. I’ve never forgotten that.”

Merlin sighs. “What am I going to do, Gwaine?”

“Well, if there’s a threat to Arthur, you’ll protect him.” Gwaine narrows his eyes. “As will I, because you can tell me now. It’s not just you watching out for the King.”

“No,” Merlin agrees quietly. “I’m not on my own anymore.”

“Exactly.” Gwaine grins. “And in the meantime, we’ll see what choices you make. And what choices this hypothetical stranger makes, too.”

“And if someone’s destiny isn’t set in stone?” Merlin can’t help asking. “Do you believe people can change?”

For once, Gwaine is completely serious, not a trace of mirth in his brown eyes. “If they want to. And if they are given a chance.” Gwaine gazes at him. “Something you’ve always been good at.”

Merlin tilts his head back against the bed frame. “Thank you, Gwaine. You’re a good friend.”

Gwaine jostles him playfully. “I mean it, Merlin. I know all too well how easy it is to get caught up in your own head. We’ll figure this out together, okay?”

“Okay,” Merlin promises, and chinks his bottle against Gwaine’s.

-

He does feel some sense of relief after speaking to Gwaine. Fear still gnaws at the back of his mind, still has him tossing and turning once night has fallen, thoughts running endlessly through his head.

But it’s better than it was. He’s not the only one looking out for Arthur now, not the only pair of eyes watching his back. Even if Gwaine doesn’t know the specifics, he’ll be on his guard. Merlin’s been Arthur’s sole protector for so long, that it feels strange to have another person share his worries.

It’s with a lighter heart that he travels through the corridors the next day. He has half a mind to go for a ride; since he’s the King’s favourite now, several of his more general chores have been taken over by other servants. Merlin isn’t sure how he feels about that, though he can’t deny the time it frees up has been nice.

Besides, he thinks the court might like him doing something as gentile and frivolous as taking a leisurely horse ride through the countryside. When it coincides with what he wants to do anyway, he might as well score some points.

It’s as he’s turning the corner that he sees a man leaving his room. The man turns and Merlin realises it’s Mordred. There’s then an awkward moment where they stare at each other.

Well, it’s awkward for Merlin. He’s not sure how Mordred feels.

“Good morning,” Mordred says politely.

“Hello,” Merlin says after a beat

Mordred is dressed in the clothes he wore to dinner. The sleeves are frayed around the edges. Merlin wonders if the clothes he wore on his journey here are the only ones Mordred has.

“Today is the day the druids trade, isn’t it?” Mordred asks, once it becomes clear Merlin isn’t going to be the main contributor to this conversation. “I was just leaving to see the markets for myself.”

Merlin, because he’s clearly been possessed, says, “Do you even know the way to the marketplace?”

Mordred’s gaze widens. “I - no. I hoped to ask directions. The - the last time I was in Camelot, I did not go into the lower town.”

Merlin, clearly still possessed and apparently insane, blurts, “I could show you.”

Mordred’s eyes go wide. Merlin doesn’t have time to question what the fuck he’s doing, because Mordred answers quickly, “Yes. I would appreciate that, if you could spare the time.”

“It’s this way,” Merlin manages, then just walks off, because he really, really doesn’t know what the fuck he’s doing.

Mordred catches up with him easily enough, which is irritating. Probably. Merlin isn’t sure if it is irritating, or whether he’s just feeling rattled and therefore overly sensitive to anything Mordred does. Like putting one foot in front of the other.

Mordred clears his throat after the third corridor of silence. “The King was kind to let me dine with him.”

“He wanted to hear your story,” Merlin replies, only somehow it comes out as an accusation.

He doesn’t mean it to, he doesn’t, but he can’t help the bite to his tone, and Mordred falters. He recovers well enough, falling back into step, but he won’t meet Merlin’s eyes. Something pangs in Merlin’s chest.

“He is,” Merlin says quietly.

Mordred startles. “Excuse me?”

“The King.” Merlin pulls at a stray thread on his tunic. “He is kind. And compassionate. He won’t forget what you did for him.”

“Then we have that in common,” Mordred says solemnly.

They’ve reached the square by now, the sunlight filtering past the turrets and over the steps. It takes Merlin a moment to realise Mordred has stopped. When he turns back, Mordred is looking around the courtyard in awe.

It’s a market day, so the whole square is bustling, filled with wagons and carts, townsfolk and servants. Camelot’s flags flutter in the wind, high above them. There’s even a group of knights returning from patrol, silver amour catching in the light. Mordred is taking it all in with wide eyes.

“Mordred?”

Mordred flushes, as though he’s been caught out. “When I arrived in Camelot, it was still nightfall. I didn’t get the chance to see it like this.”

“I was the same on my first day in Camelot,” Merlin says softly. “I’d never seen anything like it.”

Mordred watches as the knights pass them by, several calling out to Merlin in greeting. “There are so many people.”

Merlin waves back to the knights. “The square is busier today because of the market, but hundreds of people live within the citadel.”

“It’s not just that,” Mordred murmurs. At Merlin’s questioning look, he smiles, small and hesitant. “Can’t you feel it?”

“Feel what?”

Mordred tilts his face towards the sun. “Arthur has allowed magic to return to Camelot. There may be a way to go, but there is already a change in the air. In the earth, I even felt it in the castle.”

“You can feel all that?”

“You can’t?”

“I’ve been a little busy,” Merlin admits. “Come on, let’s get to the lower town.”

Mordred stops for a second time when he sees the druids. He almost walks into the back of a cart, it’s so abrupt, and Merlin has to drag him to the side so they aren’t both crushed by a wagon of turnips.

Mordred doesn’t appear to notice. He’s frozen in place, eyes wide and disbelieving as a group of druids pass them by. The market is especially busy today, and there are plenty of druids stalls, bartering fabrics, cloth, food. Their grey cloaks make them stand out in the crowd, mingled in with the townsfolk.

“You’re not going to cry, are you?” Merlin blurts awkwardly, only half joking.

He’s not sure Mordred has heard him, his mouth parted in shock. Merlin lets him be, stands quietly to the side until Mordred is ready to speak.

“It’s really true,” Mordred whispers eventually. “The druids are free to enter Camelot.”

“They are.” Merlin subtly moves them out of the way of a group of washer women.

Mordred blinks several times. “I - I came to Camelot on a rumour. I had nowhere else to go. I - I didn’t even know if the rumours were true.”

Merlin swallows. “Well, they were. You don’t - you have nothing to fear, Mordred. Arthur is a friend to the druids, to your people.” Merlin looks out in the crowd. He can’t help smiling himself. “And this is only the beginning.”

“Thank you, Emrys.” Merlin’s eyes snap to Mordred’s, but the other’s man’s gaze is steady. “You didn’t have to do this. I know you don’t trust me.”

Merlin colours, caught by Mordred’s pale eyes and rooted to the spot. He opens his mouth, to say what he has no idea, but when someone shouts his name. “Merlin!”

Merlin turns quickly, grateful for the distraction. Gwaine is walking towards him, tossing an apple from one hand to another. He slings an arm around Merlin’s neck. “Nice to see you out of the castle.”

Gwaine takes a huge bite of his apple, then mumbles through a mouthful, “Who's your friend?”

“Your manners are worse than Arthur’s,” Merlin snaps, shoving his arm away. “This is, er. This is Mordred. I was just showing him around the market.”

Mordred has gone pale again. Merlin is just squinting at him in case he’s about to faint, when Mordred says breathlessly, “You’re a knight.”

Gwaine does a double take, before a wide grin crosses his face.

“I am.” Gwaine sketches a dramatic bow. “Sir Gwaine. Knight of Camelot.”

“Oh, this is so bad,” Merlin mutters, but both Mordred and Gwaine appear to have lost their hearing.

“How did you become a knight?” Mordred asks eagerly.

“Well, only nobles were able to be knights before Arthur took the throne,” Gwaine explains. “I and a few others fought beside Arthur during Camelot’s darkest hour. Arthur knighted us then.”

“The knights of the round table,” Mordred breathes, awed.

“There’s a few of us around, let me see.” Gwaine cranes his neck, peering into the crowd. “You see the tall fella towards the back? That’s Percival. And Leon should be around here somewhere - ah, there he is.”

Leon is making his way towards them. “Gwaine, Merlin.”

He blinks when he sees Mordred, but thankfully Gwaine is still talking. “Ah, Leon. I was just talking to Merlin’s friend, Mordred here.”

“Hello Mordred,” Leon says, in a passable impression of someone who’s never met him before.

“Leon is head of the knights,” Gwaine explains. “Which just means he thinks he’s entitled to boss us around.”

“That’s not what it means,” Leon scowls. “I take my responsibilities very seriously. It’s an honour to fight by the King’s side.”

Gwaine sighs, but his eyes are soft. “I suppose I can’t argue with that. Still, that last mission was a bit of a brute, wasn’t it?”

Gwaine and Leon fall into conversation, occasionally stopping to explain something to Mordred, or adding details. Mordred listened, transfixed. He bites his lip every so often, as though he wants to ask a question, but doesn’t dare.

It takes Merlin far too long to realise the expression on Mordred’s face is longing.

-

Two days later, Merlin still doesn’t know how he feels after the trip to the market.

On one hand, Mordred certainly hadn’t seemed like a threat then. Not when he was watching the knights with a loneliness that was palpable, nor when he had been so shocked by the druid’s presence that he’d come to a complete standstill in the middle of the square.

He’d just seemed - young. He can’t be more than twenty, a few years old that Merlin was perhaps, when he came to Camelot for the first time. Young and lonely and awed by the world in front of him. Merlin knows all too well what that feels like. And that’s not even considering the secret they share, because magic is still banned in Camelot for now. The burden is easier and Merlin knows now it won’t be long, but it still weighs on him. It must weigh on Mordred too.

All in all, Merlin is more confused than he’s ever been. The dragon had said he and Mordred were as different as night and day, but from here - Merlin is not too sure.

Still, the fear of losing Arthur, of the prophecy coming true, is hard to shake. Merlin is still mulling over it a few days later, when he bumps into George coming out of Arthur’s chambers.

George nods his head respectfully. “Merlin.”

“Uh, hello,” Merlin says awkwardly, and dashes inside before George can do something really weird like bow. That would just be too far.

Percival, Leon and Gwaine are already sitting around the table. Arthur waves a hand and Merlin takes the seat to Arthur’s right. It’s still a little strange to be included in meetings like this. Usually Merlin would still be in the room, sharpening Arthur’s sword or polishing his amour, and he’d give Arthur his counsel afterwards.

“Have there been any reports of Morgana?” Arthur is asking.

Leon shakes his head. “No, Sire. A few rumours to the North, but nothing credible or concrete.”

“Surely she won’t go north?” Merlin queries. “That’s Annis’ lands. Morgana will have heard of the truce between us by now.”

“I agree,” Leon says. “I think these are just rumours. Ones that could even be spread by Morgana herself, as a diversion. An attempt to distract us from where she is really headed.”

“She’s certainly clever enough to try something like that,” Arthur mutters. “Keep the patrols alert. It won’t be long before she strikes again, I’m sure she’s plotted something by now.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“And Agravaine?” Gwaine asks. “Is he still on his extended holiday?”

“Yes.” Arthur narrows his eyes. “Though he’ll have to return in a month’s time. We can’t keep him from Camelot forever.”

“Can’t we?” Gwaine and Merlin say at the same time.

Arthur rolls his eyes, though his lip is quirked in amusement. “No.”

“I’m sure he has spies within Camelot,” Merlin scowls. “The move he pulled with Caerleon was risky. If it had worked, he must have had support from inside Camelot. He couldn’t have known for sure how the people would react. He had to know there were some that would have followed his lead, when he didn’t demand war.”

Arthur rubs his temples. “I agree. But we have some time yet. Keep an eye on those Northern borders, though I’m sure it’s just Morgana trying to mislead us.”

“Yes, Sire.”

“Now, onto the second round of business.” Arthur clears his throat. He eyes Merlin shiftily. “George had something he wished to discuss with me.”

“Was it an in-depth history of the symbolic importance of brass?” Merlin asks.

Arthur makes a poor attempt to smother his laugh. “Er, no.”

“Ask him about it sometime,” Merlin deadpans. “It’s riveting.”

“I’ll be sure to never do that,” Arthur answers. “No, it’s about my, er. Treatment of you as the King’s favourite.”

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean?”

“You usually ride into battle with Arthur, don’t you?” Leon begins slowly. “Or into whatever danger Camelot faces. It’s just, most Kings and Queens wouldn’t - wouldn't put their favourites in the path of such harm. Not unless they were already a knight, or a guard.”

Merlin stares at him. “But I’m a sorcerer. I’m not in any danger. If anything, you’re the ones who are going to look helpless when I don’t have to hold back anymore.”

“I’m not sure that’s strictly - “

“No, it is,” Arthur interrupts casually. “He could take you all out without breaking a sweat.”

“Thank you, Arthur,” Merlin blushes,. Arthur smiles and hooks his ankle around Merlin’s under the table.

Leon looks between the two of them and heaves a sigh. “Yes, we know you have magic. But the court doesn't.”

“But I can still fight,” Merlin protests. “I can use a sword, you’ve seen me.”

“Yeah, we’ve seen you fight,” Gwaine chimes in. “But no one in the castle has. Not really. They’ve only seen Arthur pummelling you into the training ground. And there was that time you dropped a sword on your foot.”

“That only happened twice!”

“The point is, the people are going to start questioning Arthur’s regard for you, if they think Arthur doesn’t care that you’re constantly riding into danger,” Leon finishes.

Merlin crosses his arm. “You realise nobody cared about this when I was a servant?”

Leon winces. Merlin narrows his eyes. “And you realise that’s fucked, right?” He waves a hand. “Oh, Merlin the servant, he’s dispensable. But Merlin whose being tumbled in the royal bed-sheets - “

“Merlin,” Arthur hisses, bright red. Leon and Percival have turned a similar shade.

“Ugh,” Merlin groans. “Fine. What is it that I need to do?”

“It might be good for you to have more of a presence on the practice field,” Leon suggests hesitantly. “Be seen training. Not just with a sword.”

“Like what?” Merlin whines. “I hate exercising.”

“Archery, perhaps,” Leon offers, like Merlin is going to be swayed by a permanent ache in his arms and having to carry a carved stick on his back.

“Archery,” Merlin repeats dubiously. “I suppose it would be good for the court to see I’m not one of those favourites who - who is going to flounce around the castle all day.”

He pauses. “Arthur, you - you do know that, don’t you? That I won’t be like those Lords and Ladies who dress in silks and linens, and like. Glides around the corridors.”

“I had got that,” Arthur says drily.

“Oh, good,” Merlin beams, and leans in to kiss him quick, until Gwaine coughs pointedly and they have to break it up.

Arthur snaps his fingers. “You know, from a tactical point of view, archery is a good idea.”

Merlin glowers at him. “Oh, don’t you start.”

Arthur turns to Merlin. “To be an archer, you’ll have to be some distance from the battle field.”

“How is that a good thing!”

“It means you’re less likely to be caught using blatant acts of magic,” Arthur retorts.

“I’ve never done that in my life,” Merlin lies.

“Right,” Arthur snorts. “You know, I have no idea how you weren’t found out before now.”

“Took you long enough, didn’t you?” Merlin wants to say more, but Leon looks ready to cry, so he reigns it in. “Fine, I’ll learn how to shoot a stupid arrow. I’ve used a crossbow before, how hard can it be?”

“I can practice your sword work with you,” Gwaine offers. “Touch you up on that.”

“I’m dropping all and any exercise the moment magic is legal,” Merlin warns them. “As soon as I can use my powers, I’m never stepping foot on the training field again.”

Leon quickly agrees to this, clearly sensing this is the best deal he’ll get. The meeting rumbles on some more, before the knights disperse. Once they’re gone, Merlin fixes Arthur with a look. “Seriously, archery?”

Arthur reaches out and tugs Merlin into his lap. The chair creaks in warning, but thankfully holds. “Leon is right. It doesn’t look very good that I’m willing to send my helpless favourite into a bandit fight.”

“I’m not helpless,” Merlin grumbles. He settles more comfortably, legs either side of Arthur’s thighs. “I suppose I only have myself to blame.”

Arthur frowns at him, strong arms encircling his waist and keeping him steady. “What do you mean?”

Merlin shrugs. “Don’t get me wrong, I was born clumsy. But perhaps there have been times I’ve - played up the bumbling idiot thing. People are less likely to suspect you’re an all power sorcerer, when they saw you trip over a washing basket.”

“I called you an idiot more than once,” Arthur says quietly. When Merlin looks at him, his eyes are pensive, his mouth a tight line. “I’m sorry, for all the names I called you in the past.”

Merlin cups his cheek. “Arthur, why are you bringing that up now? That was years ago. Besides, you’ve apologised for that before. We’re both different people to who we were when I first came to Camelot, thank god.”

Arthur still looks troubled. Merlin ducks forward and presses a kiss to Arthur’s forehead. “Arthur, what is it really? What aren’t you telling me?”

Arthur sighs. He begins to rub circles on Merlin’s back, warm and comforting, though Merlin isn’t sure who’s reassuring who. “It’s just something you said before. I know you’re not helpless. I’m certain I haven’t seen half of what you can do. But I - I can’t help - “

“Arthur,” Merlin murmurs. “What are you so worried about?”

“What if you didn’t have your magic?” Arthur blurts.

Merlin stills. “What do you mean?”

Arthur’s grip tightens on Merlin’s tunic. “Once people know about your magic, you’ll be a target. They’ll know they’ll have to get through you to get to me. What if they try and - I don’t know, stop your magic somehow? Is that even possible?”

Merlin swallows. “I - I don’t know. I’ve heard rumours of handcuffs, a type of iron that stifles the magic of anyone who wears them. And Gaius says there was a time many kingdoms were protected by magic, had their own sorcerers. Surely there must have been methods used to fight back against them.”

Arthur nods grimly. The talk of Merlin losing his magic has him feeling shaky, and he fists his hands in Arthur’s collar so he won’t see them trembling.

“Hopefully- hopefully that’ll never happen,” Merlin manages eventually, trying to sound braver than he feels. “But you’re right. Especially with Morgana’s powers. If she ever finds out that I’m Emrys, that I have magic, it’s something she would try to do.”

“I’ll never let her hurt you,” Arthur vows, voice rough. “But I can’t pretend I’m not relieved you’ll be training more with the knights. A King has to prepare for every eventuality. I won’t leave anything to chance. Not when it comes to you.”

Merlin tilts Arthur’s chin up and kisses him. It’s gentle; a soft, steady pressure of Arthur’s lips against his. Warmth spreads through Merlin’s spine, travels all the way down into his toes, and he curls as close to Arthur as he can.

“You know,” Merlin murmurs, lips an inch a part. “If we’re planning for all eventualities, you should really brush up on your magical knowledge.”

Arthur hums, mouthing at Merlin’s neck. “You’re the expert on that.”

“Yes, but what if you, ah.” Merlin squirms as Arthur’s teeth drag teasingly over his skin. “But what if I’m not there? What if you run into another unicorn?”

Arthur groans, leaning back so his head thumps against the chair. “You’re never going to let me live the unicorn down, are you?”

Merlin grins, grateful for the break in tension. “Never.”

“No more talk of unicorns,” Arthur orders, and Merlin can’t find a reason to disagree once Arthur’s scooping him up and carrying him over to the bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah Mordred deserved better and that’s the hill we’re going to die on lads  
it's so painful watching season 5 and seeing how trapped merlin feels, he is just overcome by fear and can't see a way out, and that ends up ruling his actions 
> 
> Also mordreds villain arc is so stupid, bbc Merlin just pull a love interest out of their ass and use that as their motivation???? Why not just have Mordred hate Merlin for almost letting him be murdered as a child??? Which presumably he got over cause it’s never talked about as an adult
> 
> also killing the female love interest to further a male characters storyline is stale and tropey and I do not care for it 
> 
> anyway i have a lot of feelings on mordred. i feel a bit meh on this chapter, hopefully the character interactions were ok??? 
> 
> merlin learning archery is 25% plot relevant, the other 75% just wanting to see merlin use a bow tbh
> 
> comments are the best anyway love you all


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i was reading this back and in one chapter note early on it said this originally had 13 chapters .... and now it has double that you really played yourself

Training, to Merlin’s disgust, begins the very next day.

Leon wakes Merlin up at the crack of dawn, standing over him until he crawls out of bed. It occurs to Merlin, whilst he’s grumbling and pulling on his boots, that it’s testament to how close they are that Leon now treats him akin to a little brother. Leon was never a noble who mistreated the servants, was always polite and courteous to Merlin when they met, even if he did appear a little disconcerted with the regularity in which Merlin’s ‘funny feelings’ came true.

But now, Leon isn’t afraid to ruffle Merlin’s hair, or hook a hand around his arm and all but drag him from his chambers. He treats Merlin with the same camaraderie he does to Arthur, or the other knights. Merlin would appreciate it a lot more if it wasn’t the middle of the fucking night.

“I’m cold,” Merlin complains, stamping his feet to get warm. He glances at the wall of bows behind them. “We’re not using all of these today, are we?”

Leon laughs. “No, we’re going to start with this one.”

Training with Leon includes a half hour lecture on the history of the weapon, before you actually get to shoot anything. Merlin spends this half hour sleeping with his eyes open, until Leon catches him and shoves him outside.

There are targets set up for him to aim for. They’re practising with a regular bow, not a crossbow, and Merlin quickly finds the two are completely different.

“I’m hopeless,” Merlin sighs.

Leon shakes his head. “You just need more practise.”

“I’ve hit everything but the target!” Merlin protests. “The only use I’ll be to Camelot is if the castle is attacked by the odd pigeon!”

“You missed the pigeon,” Leon points out, then winces at the look on Merlin's face. “No one becomes an expert in a weapon in fifteen minutes. And a long bow is very different to what you’re used to using. Who taught you how to use a crossbow? Arthur?”

“Yes.” He’s out of arrows now, so he goes to collect the used ones scattered around. “It was years ago. I think he was bored, Uther had forbidden him from leaving the castle.”

“Again,” Leon orders, and Merlin sighs before notching another arrow. “Hold that position. What had Arthur done?”

“I don’t remember, in all honesty.” Leon taps his elbow, and Merlin adjusts his grip. “I think Uther was already in a bad mood, Arthur had challenged him on raising the people’s taxes again. We spent most of the afternoon training, Arthur taught me then.”

“Take a deep breath in,” Leon instructs. “Count to three, then release.”

Merlin counts to three, releases, and watches despondently as the arrow buries itself into the grass.

Leon slaps his back. “You’ll get there. Let’s take it from the beginning.”

Arthur and his knights arrive for their training sessions an hour later. There’s a few glances in Merlin’s direction, a mixture of impressed and surprised. Arthur is laughing at something Gwaine is saying. He has his head thrown back, armour glinting in the sunlight, and Merlin can’t help smiling.

Leon gently reminds him to focus, and Arthur is beginning his drills anyway. Merlin drags his gaze away and draws back his bow string. His arms are already beginning to ache.

He’s listening for when Arthur calls for a break, immediately putting his bow down. Leon looks exasperated, but he doesn’t stop from Merlin from scampering away.

Arthur is sitting on a bench, pulling his leather gloves off with his teeth. His helmet lays abandoned on the floor, Arthur’s hair tousled and pushed away from his forehead. His eyes light up when they fall on Merlin.

“Hey, sweetheart. Is Leon running you ragged yet?”

“You could say that.” Merlin snorts. “I think my arm is going to fall off!”

Arthur takes Merlin’s wrists and tugs him forward, so Merlin is standing between his legs, and pushes his sleeve up. Merlin’s forearm is red from where the bow string has snapped against it.

Arthur draws a gentle finger over the sensitive skin, making him shiver.

“Leon says the bow might not fit,” Merlin explains. “Or it might just be that my form is wrong. It’s probably the second one, I’ve been shit at archery so far.”

“You need arm guards,” Arthur says softly. He continues his ministrations, fingers light and steady, tracing a repetitive path from elbow to wrist and back. “I’ll have the royal tanners make you some.”

“Oh.” Merlin doesn’t know what to say, caught off guard by the softness of Arthur’s touch and the sincerity in his eyes. “Thank you.”

“The knights are impressed,” Arthur continues. He carefully pulls Merlin’s sleeve back down, straightening the fabric. “When they think I’m not looking, they’ve been watching you train.”

“Watching me make a fool of myself, more like.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, that’s not what they think. They’ve all been where you are. We’ve all dropped a sword or fallen off a horse. They think you’re brave.”

“Brave?”

Arthur nods. “Knights have often been training for years, starting as squires and working their way up. Using a sword or bow isn’t anything new to them. You’ve never had that training. This is all new to you, but you’re still trying, even though you know everyone is going to be watching.”

“Oh.” Merlin squirms. He’s not very good at taking compliments. “I suppose.”

“I think the word ‘adorable’ was also used,” Arthur adds.

“Adorable! How am I adorable?”

“I have no idea, I can barely tolerate you myself.”

Merlin yanks his hands free in mock offence and Arthur laughs. “They all think you’re completely defenceless! Like a bumbling baby deer. I’ve been told it’s very admirable you’re determined to defend yourself.”

Arthur leans in closer, grin sharp. “If only they knew.”

“If only they knew,” Merlin repeats.

Arthur’s eyes are dark. He hooks an ankle around Merlin’s leg, and Merlin steps further into the vee of Arthur’s legs.

“One day,” Arthur murmurs. “Everyone will know how powerful you are. Including me.”

“One day,” Merlin agrees softly. He curls a hand under Arthur’s chin, running his thumb over the line of his jaw. “But not today. Today, you have knights to train. And I have to practise catapulting a pointy stick through the air.”

“Don’t let Leon hear you say that.” Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin’s waist. “Did he give you a speech on the ancient art of archery?”

“I think that was the gist,” Merlin says vaguely. “Honestly, I slept through most of it.”

Arthur focuses on something behind Merlin’s shoulder. “He’s coming over here.”

Sure enough, Leon appears at his shoulder a few moments later. “Merlin, break is over. Back to practice. Arthur, stop distracting him.”

“He’s distracting me,” Arthur fibs. “Leon, have you _seen_ his arms? He needs arm guards.”

He keeps his arms firmly around Merlin’s waist. Merlin pretends to be irritated, but he secretly quite likes it. Leon rolls his eyes. “Arthur, his skin isn’t even bruised. You got into far worse scrapes when you were starting out.”

“Did he?” Merlin asks in interest. “Arthur, are you good with a bow? Other than a crossbow, I mean.”

Arthur nods. “My father made sure I was proficient in all types of weapons, not just the sword. Archery was one of the first types of combat I learnt.”

“Why archery?”

“Because, preferably, children wouldn’t be on the front line of a battlefield,” Arthur explains. “If the castle was sieged whilst I was still young, being adept in archery would mean I’d be able to defend myself from a distance.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “And your father expected that of you? In the event of an attack, you’d pick up a bow and a quiver?”

“I imagine so, though I never knew if he just used that as a reason to get me to practice.” Arthur smiles, only it’s brittle this time. “It was always a good precautionary tale. What happened to the little Prince who didn’t practice his drills.”

Merlin is speechless, fury silencing him. Arthur must feel how he’s trembling with anger, because he speaks quickly. “Merlin, don’t, it’s quite common for - “

“You said you’d been trained to kill from birth,” Merlin cuts in. “I just ignored it then, but it’s the truth, isn’t it?”

“From birth is a bit of an exaggeration,” Arthur tries jokingly, but Merlin doesn’t laugh. It’s Arthur's turn to fall quiet, lost in the face of Merlin’s indignation on his behalf.

“Children are not weapons,” Merlin grinds out. “And I can’t - I find it difficult.”

Leon has tactfully moved away, clearly picking up on the tension. Merlin can hear the clang of swords, so the knights must have begun their drills again. It’s just him and Arthur now, Arthur’s hands warm on his back.

Merlin takes a deep breath. “I find it difficult to imagine your childhood as - as a series of tests, one trial after another to complete, to prove your worth to your father.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says helplessly. “It wasn’t like that.” He pauses. “Well, perhaps it was. Some of the time. I rarely think back to my childhood.”

“Because it was so awful?” Merlin blurts, then kicks himself for being so insensitive.

Arthur doesn’t look offended. He raises a hand to cup Merlin’s cheek. “No, because I had no one to talk to about it before.”

“Oh,” Merlin breathes.

“No one I trusted anyway,” Arthur amends. “No one who would - listen.”

“Arthur.” Merlin slides his hand over Arthur’s neck, threading it through his hair. “I would always listen. And I’m - I’m sorry, for how blunt I was before. He was your father. It’s - it’s easy for me to look in from the outside. I wasn’t there.”

“You don’t need to apologise.” Arthur hesitates. “I’m not as blind to my father’s treatment of me, and of others, as I once was. But even - even with that, I miss him dearly. I can’t help it.”

“I know,” Merlin says gently.

He does believe a small, genuine part of Uther loved his son. It’ll never excuse, or justify, the other parts, though; the drills, the impossibly high standards, the coldness, the temper. It only means it’s more complicated than that. A part of Arthur will always love Uther, too, love the father he could be.

“It’s not something I want to dwell on now.” Arthur’s mouth curves into a sweet smile. “But I know I can turn to you, if I need to.”

“Always,” Merlin vows fiercely. “Whenever you need, Arthur.”

Arthur holds out a hand. Merlin takes it, thinking Arthur wants to be pulled up, but Arthur brushes a kiss over his knuckles instead.

Merlin flushes from the roots of his hair down to his toes. “You’re not smooth.”

“Then why are you blushing?” Arthur teases. “Seriously. Thank you, Merlin. Now, I better call Leon back over. He always was my most tactful knight.”

Merlin peers over to where Percival has Gwaine in a headlock, just outside of Leon’s eye-line. “As though there was ever much of a competition.”

Proving himself worthy of the title, Leon doesn’t say anything when Arthur gestures him over. He just grasps Arthur’s arm once, before walking over to the archery targets again. Merlin follows after him, but not before running his hand over Arthur’s shoulder.

Merlin waits until they’re halfway across the field to ask, “How much of that did you hear?”

“However much Arthur wanted me to,” Leon answers firmly, and Merlin’s chest clenches in gratitude.

Merlin takes some time choosing his arrow. Honestly, they all look the same, but it gives him time to stall.

“Leon,” he begins hesitantly. “What was Arthur like? As a boy?”

Leon takes his time in answering. He hands Merlin his bow, waiting until Merlin has an arrow ready and his arm drawn back.

“Determined,” Leon says finally.

Merlin flinches and his arrow goes wide. _Determined_. Who describes a child as _determined_?

“And solemn.” Leon sighs. “In all my memories of us as children, Arthur was always doing something. Riding, practising with a wooden sword, standing behind the King during council meetings. I remember him falling off his horse when he was ten. He didn’t even cry, he just begged me not to tell his father and tried to climb back on, even though his wrist was already turning purple.”

“Did you tell the King?”

Leon shakes his head. “No. I took him to the physician. Gaius wrapped his wrist, Arthur got back on his horse. Uther never found out.”

Merlin looks down at his feet. He lowers his arms, bow forgotten. “He was only a little boy.”

“I hate to say this, but Morgana coming to Camelot was exactly what he needed.” Leon runs a hand through his curly hair. “Suddenly there was another child in the castle, meaning someone who actually treated _Arthur_ like a _child_. They were thick as thieves within a month. Morgana was always starting trouble. Always pulling Arthur into it, too.”

Leon clears his throat. “And Arthur - Arthur was kind to her. She had just lost her father, she was grieving. Half the time, Arthur was the only one who could get through to her. I always thought it was because he knew what it was like to lose a parent.”

Merlin swallows, heart aching. “It must be so strange for you. I always forget you knew her as a young girl.”

“Merlin, you can’t blame yourself.” Merlin blinks at him, and Leon smiles sadly. “You have the same look that Arthur gets whenever Morgana is mentioned. Morgana made her choice. She could have used her powers for good, but turned to darkness instead. You couldn’t have saved her.”

“I know,” Merlin says, and finds he means it.

He’ll always feel guilt over not telling Morgana about his own magic, will always wonder if things would have been different, if she wasn’t so alone, wasn’t so frightened. He’ll take responsibility for not listening to his heart, for heeding the dragon’s words instead.

(And with Mordred back in Camelot, part of him has to question whether listening to the dragon would just be repeating the same mistake? Isn’t Mordred just as frightened, just as alone? Heeding the dragon’s advice didn’t work out well last time. It’s an itch at the back of his mind these days; if his role is so important, why does he sometimes feel like a pawn? When did he stop trusting his own heart?)

Anyway, what Merlin isn’t responsible for, is Morgana’s actions. Not her laying siege to Camelot, not her firing on the people. Not any of her attempts to murder her own father, to murder Arthur. Merlin is sorry about how he handled the situation, but Morgana is the one who turned to hatred, to killing. Merlin has suffered for years, too, and he never went on a killing spree.

“I’m sorry she turned down that path,” Merlin says slowly. “But you’re right. The only person responsible for her bloodshed is her.”

Leon nods grimly. “And if she ever meets Arthur again, she won’t hold back.”

“That’s alright,” Merlin says, and lifts his bow. “Because neither will we.”

-

“I’ve got you a gift,” Arthur announces a few days later.

Merlin is sprawled on Arthur’s bed, staring at the ceiling and generally not paying attention to anything Arthur is saying. Officially, he’s helping Arthur practice a speech, but unofficially they’re both exhausted after three hours in a council meeting and are hiding out in Arthur’s chambers.

Merlin doesn’t hear Arthur at first, because he’s too busy thinking about the meeting. For someone who’d felt sick with nerves beforehand, he doesn’t think he did too badly. It was his first council meeting as King’s favourite, meaning he actually got to sit in a chair, instead of leaning against the wall. Honestly, most of it’s a blur, but he even managed to make a relevant comment about trade routes towards the end.

Well, he thinks it was relevant. Most of it is a black out, but he does recall Percival giving him a thumbs up.

“Merlin,” Arthur snaps. “I’m talking to you.”

“I hadn’t noticed,” Merlin says honestly.

Arthur throws a balled up piece of paper at him. “Well, you should pay more attention to your King. I’ve got you a gift.”

Merlin narrows his eyes. “Have you really? Or is it just a basket of washing or something?”

“No!”

Merlin props himself up on his elbow. “No, you don’t have a gift, or no, it’s not a washing basket?”

Arthur glares at him. “No, it’s not a washing basket. Stop lounging on my bed like a harlot and come here.”

“You come over here first,” Merlin says quickly.

It’s Arthur’s turn to look suspicious. “Why?”

“Because that’s the third piece of paper you’ve thrown away. I’ll help you with the speech in a moment, Arthur. Just come here.” Arthur still doesn’t look convinced, so Merlin adds, “And I’ll forgive you for calling me a harlot.”

Arthur, possibly as an act of vengeance for being ignored, stalks over and collapses right on top of him. When Merlin oofs, he just mutters, “Weakling,” right into Merlin’s ear.

Arthur wiggles until his weight is more evenly distributed, then rests his head on Merlin’s chest. Merlin curls his arms around Arthur’s waist, relaxing into the mattress. Normally, Arthur is the one to hold Merlin. Whenever they have to sleep rough on hunts or campaigns now, Arthur pulls Merlin flush against his chest, holding him tightly even in sleep.

It’s quite nice doing it this way. Arthur feels solid and warm, his chest rising and falling as he takes steady breaths. He likes having Arthur this close. Merlin’s never held anyone like this before.

“Do not fall asleep,” Arthur warns him, voice slightly muffled from where he’s curled into Merlin’s chest. “I mean it, Merlin.”

Merlin shushes him. “It’s only for five minutes. I know you have a headache.”

“I don’t,” Arthur says petulantly, like he hasn’t been rubbing his temples for the past hour.

“Fine, then I do. Now shut up.”

Arthur mutters something very unbecoming of a King, before falling quiet.

Merlin isn’t sure whether it’s the talk of Morgana, or Mordred’s arrival, or something else entirely, but he and Arthur can’t seem to keep their hands off each other these days. Sometimes the urge to touch Arthur is like a fire under his skin, all encompassing, burning through him until he can feel Arthur’s pulse point, see the sky blue of his eyes, hear his laugh as he jostles Leon in the corridors.

After at least fifteen minutes, Arthur heaves a sigh. He lifts his head and brushes his mouth against Merlin’s, before climbing off him. “Come on. Time to get back to work.”

“We weren’t doing any work anyway,” Merlin points out, letting Arthur tug him to his feet.

“I was writing my speech.”

“You were crossing out sentences then throwing paper at my head.”

“That’s how I find my inspiration.”

“And is your inspiration under your bed?” Merlin asks. “Because that’s where that last ball of paper has gone.”

“I’ll get George to pick it up later, it’ll make his entire week.”

Arthur pushes Merlin over to the desk, before going to rummage through his drawers. Merlin leans against the wood, watching Arthur curiously.

“Here.” Arthur walks back over. “The royal tanners sent them over this morning.”

“Arm guards,” Merlin says softly, gazing at the supple leather in Arthur’s hands.

He rolls his right sleeve up, before obligingly holding his arm out. The leather guard covers his forearm, leather soft and smooth against his skin. It’s held together with silver thread, meaning Merlin can easily slip it on and off.

Merlin turns his wrist from side to side in admiration. “Wow! Thank you, Arthur.”

Arthur looks pleased, tension draining out of his shoulders. Merlin hadn't even realised he was nervous.

“They made these, too,” Arthur adds. He passes Merlin another package and Merlin takes it carefully.

“Gloves?” Merlin asks.

The gloves are made of the same velvety leather as the arm guard. They’re finger less apart for the three middle fingers, the ones he’d use to pull back his bow string.

“That’s three,” Merlin says absently.

Arthur frowns. “Three what?”

Merlin pulls the gloves on, holding them up to appreciate them. “Three gifts you’ve brought me.”

Arthur flushes a pretty shade of pink. His gaze flits to the sigil, pinned to Merlin’s blue tunic as usual, to the guard, then the gloves.

Merlin grins, rocking forward on his heels. “I better repay you, or people will start thinking I’m spoilt.”

“I don’t think you understand the concept of a gift,” Arthur drawls, but it’d be a lot more convincing if there wasn’t a blush dusted across his cheeks.

“Hm. How about some flowers?”

Rather than protest that he’s not a love sick waif, Arthur just looks taken aback. Merlin realises abruptly that Arthur has always been the one to make romantic gestures beforehand. It was always up to the Prince to provide flowers, jewellery, a gentle ride followed by a picnic. He doesn’t remember any of the visiting Lords and Ladies wooing Arthur in return.

“Lilies,” Merlin says immediately. “I know you like those best.”

“They smell nice,” Arthur admits hesitantly. “And I’ve always been told they were my mother’s favourite.”

Merlin barely manages to restrain his magic from turning the entire room into a meadow. He’s already thinking about what he could get Arthur as a gift; the possessive part of him likes the idea of Arthur wearing something specially chosen by him. A pendant, perhaps, or a bracelet. Something Arthur can wear every day, without being too obtrusive.

“Come on,” Arthur says, snapping Merlin out of his daydreaming. “It’s time for you to try those out.”

Arthur grabs his hand, pulling him forward. Merlin laughs. “Right now?”

“No better time than present.” Arthur grins. “Besides, you’ll never improve if you don’t practice everyday.”

“Who says I haven’t improved?”

“You did,” Arthur reminds him. “You spent half an hour moaning about it last night. I don’t even know why, because Leon says you’re doing really well.”

Merlin perks up. “He does?”

“Yes.” Arthur links their hands as they walk down the corridors. “He said it only took you an hour to actually hit the target yesterday.”

Once they arrive at the training field, it becomes clear that Merlin has an audience.

“What are you doing here?” Merlin demands, glaring at the knights.

“Moral support,” Gwaine answers immediately. “We’ve come to cheer you on.”

“I wanted to see what Arthur brought you this time,” Percival says unashamedly. Gwaine digs him in the ribs. Leon already has the targets set up, holding a bow out to Merlin with a grin.

“I’m glad you’ve finally got an arm guard,” he whispers as an aside. “One more bruise and Arthur would have my head.”

It’s early afternoon and there are plenty of other knights around, taking advantage of the good weather to run drills. Oftentimes the castle staff and townsfolk will stop to watch, and today is no exception.

Merlin takes a deep breath and draws his bow. He feels suddenly nervous with so many people around.

“Merlin,” Arthur calls. When Merlin glances back, his arms are crossed, his eyes sharp and blue. “Your form is good. Wider your stance, though, so you’re steadier.”

Merlin does as instructed, finding it does help his balance. He’s just about to release his arrow when his eyes catch on someone in the crowd. In his panic, he lets go in haste, and the arrow buries itself into a patch of grass.

Gwaine claps his hands. “Well, that was anticlimactic.”

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur snaps. “Merlin, just take your time.”

Mordred is standing amongst the crowd of people, watching intently.

“I can’t with him watching me,” Merlin blurts. “It’s - off putting.”  
Leon frowns, looking around in confusion. “But you’ve never had an issue with people watching before.”

“There’s always a crowd when we practice,” Gwaine says slowly. “The townsfolk like to see us training, and the stable hands like to see my - “

“Gwaine, shut up for once,” Leon hisses. “Merlin, Arthur is right. Try again when you’re ready.”

Merlin swallows. He lifts his bow again after a beat, and this time, the arrow hits the outer circle of the target. Arthur immediately cheers, he and the knights spilling onto the pitch to congratulate him. Merlin looks for Mordred in the crowd, but all he can see is a figure walking back towards the castle, shoulders hunched.

-

Now that Merlin’s noticed him, Mordred seems to be at almost every practice session the knights have. Merlin can’t speak for the rest of his time, but he’s there on Monday when they practice javelin. He’s there on Wednesday when the knights run through shield work.

In all fairness, he doesn’t show up for drills on Friday afternoon, possibly because it mainly consists of Leon lapping everyone and that gets boring very quickly. But Mordred is back again the following week, watching in awe as Arthur leaves a third knight lying in the dust.

Merlin is not watching Arthur in awe, something he suspects Arthur is feeling disgruntled by. Merlin is far too busy trying to work out what on earth Mordred is doing.

He’s so focused on trying to understand Mordred’s intentions, that he misses Gwaine’s shout of warning, as well as the subsequent ball that comes flying through the air and smacks into his arm.

“Sorry, Merlin!” Gwaine yells. “I thought you were going to catch it!”

Merlin rubs at his throbbing elbow. “What about me standing still with my arms crossed made you think that?”

“Gwaine!” Arthur bellows. “You’re meant to be training, not playing a game a catch!”

Gwaine catches a look at Arthur’s furious face and pales. “I was just - “

“_Now_, Gwaine!”

Gwaine hurries off, giving Arthur a wide berth as he stalks over to Merlin.

“Thanks,” Merlin says drily, as he approaches. “My honour feels truly defended.”

Arthur grunts. “Gwaine is an idiot, but he does usually have good aim. You’d have caught it if you’d been paying attention. You’ve been distracted all week.”

“I haven’t,” Merlin lies.

Arthur grasps his shoulder. “It’s alright, Merlin, I understand. It’s the people watching, isn’t it? I know what it’s like to feel as though all eyes are on you. I can ask them to leave - “

“It’s not all the people,” Merlin bites out.

Arthur narrows his eyes like he doesn’t believe him. He turns to scan the crowd, before whipping back around. “Is it because Mordred is watching? Why would that upset you?”

Merlin squirms. “It’s just - he’s come to a few practises by now. Don’t you - isn’t that a bit - weird?”

Arthur frowns. “He’s a young man, seeing Camelot properly for the first time. Plenty of visitors to the city want to see the knights training. Besides, I know he got to meet Leon and Gwaine when you showed him around the market the other day.”

“You know about that?” Merlin squeaks.

Arthur eyes him strangely. “Yes, I passed Mordred in the corridor and he mentioned how you’d gone with him to the lower town. So did Leon, the other day.”

Arthur smiles, squeezing his arm. “I thought it was very kind of you to go with Mordred to the market.”

Merlin shrugs awkwardly. “It was a bit of a last minute decision.”

“Well, I’m sure he appreciated it,” Arthur says warmly. He’s looking at Merlin with such pride; Merlin feels like a complete worm. “He was so shocked when he dined with us, wasn’t he? It must be such a relief for him to see his people really are safe and welcome within Camelot’s walls.”

“Yes,” Merlin says after a beat. “It must be. I wonder if he intends to stay within the castle. Perhaps he’ll return to the forest with the druid camp.”

Arthur waves a hand. “Well, you can ask him now. He’s on his way over here.”

“What?”

Sure enough, Mordred is taking hesitant steps over to them. He looks very serious, pale eyes almost green in the early morning light. He comes to a halt in front of Arthur, hands folded neatly behind his back.

“My Lord,” Mordred greets them. “Em - Lord Merlin.”

“I’m not a Lord,” Merlin says immediately. “Just Merlin is fine. I’m not even a consort yet.”

Mordred falters. “Oh. My apologies. I don’t - there are so many different titles, formalities. I don’t know them all yet.”

Arthur digs Merlin in the ribs with his elbow, giving him a confused look. “It’s quite alright, Mordred. There is no need to stand on ceremony here. Merlin has never cared for titles, anyway.”

“I am extremely respectful,” Merlin mutters, but Arthur ignores him. Merlin wishes he could ignore this entire conversation; he has no idea how to speak to Mordred, not without being mean or cold, or someone he doesn’t like when he looks in the mirror later.

Mordred nods uncertainly. “My Lord, I came to ask you something.”

“Of course, Mordred. What is it?”

Mordred takes a deep breath. “I wish to become a knight of Camelot.”

“You what?” Merlin screeches.

“A knight?” Arthur repeats in surprise.

“Yes,” Mordred says hurriedly. “It’s why I’ve been watching you practise these past few days. I want to protect Camelot, to serve by your side.” His gaze flickers to Merlin’s; it’s clear he’s talking about both of them. “I can think of no better way to do so.”

“Well, you’ve certainly shown you have the courage,” Arthur muses. “But what about your people? I had thought you’d want to return with the druids to their camp.”

“I have not lived among the druids for sometime now,” Mordred says quietly. “It is good to see them, to see they are welcome and protected within these walls. But I don’t wish to live among them. I want to choose my own path.”

Merlin grips Arthur’s wrist tightly. He can’t find the words to speak, so he digs his fingers into the bone of Arthur’s wrist and lets that ground him.

Arthur claps Mordred’s shoulder. “Like I said, you are certainly as brave as any knight I know. It took courage to stand up to Morgana, as well as to travel here and see for yourself if the rumours about the druids were true.”  
He lowers his voice. “But you’ll have to complete the training, same as anyone else. No one but us three know you used magic to defeat Morgana, or that you were there at all. They’ll be suspicious if I knight you without any explanation.”

Mordred gasps. “So you will let me try out?”

“Where would any of us be if no one had given us a chance?” Arthur grins.

Mordred’s entire face lights up. “Thank you, my Lord, thank you, I won’t - you won’t regret this. I am going to prove myself to you. Both of you.”

“Enthusiasm is always a good start,” Arthur says kindly. “Though I warn you, you’ll have to work hard. Becoming a knight isn’t easy, though you’re off to a promising start.”

Colour rises in Mordred’s cheek, before he pauses. “I don’t have any armour.”

“I can find you some,” Merlin croaks. Both Arthur and Mordred startle. “Meet me tomorrow morning in the armoury, just before your training begins.”

“I would appreciate it,” Mordred says earnestly. “Thank you, Em - Merlin. Thank you, Merlin.”

“Don’t mention it,” Merlin mumbles, and wonders what he’s gotten himself into.

-

He doesn’t sleep much that night. He heads to the armoury early, wringing his hands nervously, but he still doesn’t manage to beat Mordred there.

A glance at the other man shows Mordred is paler than usual, dark rings under his eyes. Perhaps Merlin isn’t the only one who had a sleepless night.

Merlin has already decided the best way to deal with this situation, is to be as detached and efficient as possible. That way he can get this over with quickly, without being unnecessarily cruel and biting. It’s not like they’re friends; Merlin can just be - professional.

“Have you worn armour before?” Merlin asks briskly.

Mordred startles, clearly not expecting the direct question. In all fairness, Merlin has spent the last two weeks either ignoring him or giving one word answers. It’s probably a bit of a shock.

“Uh, yes,” Mordred stammers. “Not as fine as this, or as many pieces, though.”

Merlin collects the necessary pieces, well used to where the amour is stored. “Try these on for size. If they don’t fit, we can find you others. I’ll look for a sword.”

“You’ve done this before,” Mordred guesses.

Merlin chooses a sword and examines it. It’s easier to answer when he doesn’t have to meet Mordred’s eyes. “Arthur often has me help fit out any prospective knights. You can tell a lot about a man’s character by how he treats a servant.”

“You can?”

Merlin hums in agreement. “Not to mention you’d be surprised what a noble will let slip around a mere serving boy.”

“And what about my character?” Mordred asks quietly.

Merlin stills. He doesn’t answer straight away, and Mordred lets out a small exhale. “You don’t trust me, do you?”

“I don’t know you,” Merlin replies, after a long moment has passed.

“But what you do know, you don’t trust,” Mordred concludes.

Merlin turns slowly, fingers grasped around the handle of the sword. He feels like a frightened rabbit; frozen in shock, as his heart thunders in his chest.

“I don’t understand why you’d want to stay in Camelot,” Merlin grits out. “Why you’d want to stay here.”

Mordred frowns. “Arthur saved my life. He’s lifted the persecution my people faced. They are safe and free to go about their craft, which is all they’ve ever wanted. I want to repay that debt, to be more than just - “

His voice catches, and he pauses, clears his throat. “And then there’s you - “

“Me?” Merlin exclaims, guilt thick and saccharine as he threatens to choke him. “I didn’t save you, I - “

“You did,” Mordred interjects, brows furrowed. “You and Arthur, you - “

“I almost didn’t,” Merlin interrupts. Now he’s started, he can’t stop, has to keep going and going, like a punishment, like a penance. “And I tried to stop you the second time we met - “

“You didn’t try very hard,” Mordred snorts. “A branch, Emrys? You’re the greatest sorcerer to ever live, if you’d wanted to stop me, I’d be long dead. And we both know it.”

Merlin stares at him. “And that makes it okay?”

“No, it doesn’t,” Mordred snaps, showing an edge of irritation for the first time. “I was a child, I was - furious, for a long time. And hurt. I couldn’t understand why you’d want to hurt me, but then I grew older and wiser and learnt many new things, and I had an idea.”

Merlin’s mouth drops open. It sounds a lot like Mordred is suggesting he knows about the prophecy. It’s never occurred to Merlin before but Mordred is a druid; his people have many different prophecies, many different tales, superstitions. What has Mordred been told about his own fate?

Mordred takes a deep breath, uncurling his fists and letting his hands drop to his sides. “And then I heard the stories.”

Merlin sits down heavily on a wooden stool. “What stories?”

To Merlin’s surprise, a hesitant smile begins to cross Mordred’s face. “About magic within the very heart of Camelot. Working behind Uther’s back to free our kind, at great risk to himself. Is it true you rescued a druid girl?”

“Freya,” Merlin breathes, his heart squeezing in his chest. “How do you know about her?”

“She was one of my people,” Mordred says softly. “I didn’t know her, but rumours spread fast of a druid girl freed from a bounty hunter. You’re not the only person with magic in Camelot. You weren’t the only one pleased to see her freed from Halig’s clutches.”

Merlin shakes his head, swallowing hard against the stinging in his eyes. “I couldn’t save her.”

“You freed her,” Mordred whispers. “And the Fisher King. You freed him, too.”

Merlin blinks at him. “How do you know all this?”

Mordred smiles. “For those with magic, what you’ve done doesn’t go unnoticed. Especially amongst my people, who know who you truly are.”

Merlin isn’t sure what to say to that. They sit in silence for a while, the sword a familiar weight on Merlin’s lap. He runs an idle along the cool blade, lost in thought.

“I am sorry,” Merlin says finally. He lifts his chin, forcing himself to meet Mordred’s eyes. “For how I treated you as a child.” Shame colours his cheeks. “I shouldn’t have done that.”

“You didn’t,” Mordred reminds him softly. “You and Arthur both saved me. I only want to repay that kindness.”

Merlin sighs and stands from his seat. “You have to understand this will - take time. I will never let any harm come to Arthur.”

“I know,” Mordred says quickly. “I know I’ll need to earn your trust.”

“And I yours,” Merlin returns evenly, and Mordred’s answering smile is like the first signs of dawn; hesitant and full of promise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> leon moaning to percival in the tavern later: "ONE bruise, percival, ONE bruise, and arthur looked ready to flog me! It was his idea for merlin to learn archery in the first place!" 
> 
> gwaine: at least you didn't have to run fifty laps around the practice field, because merlin couldn't catch a cold, let alone a ball 
> 
> *i love protective arthur sm*
> 
> i like the idea of rumours spreading about everything that went down in camelot, like surely all the magic users would have noticed when the latest witch escaped, or when the witch finder was KOd, or the dragon just *happened* to stop attacking the citadel. i like to think merlin is a bit like a superhero, and all the magic users across the kingdoms are waiting to hear what happens next. merlin helps loads of magic users over the seasons, it doesn't seem that unrealistic that people would starting talking about camelot's guardian angel 
> 
> hope the pacing is ok??? sorry they haven't had sex in a bit??? they will next chapter??? i always worry if this fic is too plotty and people are disappointed with the lack of touching each other up, but then again this fic has always been a slow burn, rewrite of season 4 if the characters had braincells and emotional agency, so hopefully people know what they were getting into if they've got this far lmaaaooo
> 
> anyway thank you for all the lovely comments !! anyone miss aithusa I DO


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this took so long to update I got a little bit stuck with it. chapter count has gone up so?? maybe that compensates lmao

Mordred is the youngest of the new recruits. The most inexperienced, too. He’s clearly been in a few fights, quick on his feet and good with hand to hand combat, but he’s never properly trained with a sword, a shield. Merlin sees the way the other recruits look at him. They don’t think he’ll last a day.

He lasts a lot more than a day.

Mordred trains harder than any other knight Merlin can remember. He is the first on the field and the last one to leave it. He may be inexperienced with a sword, but he learns quickly and there’s an edge to his fighting style, one you only get from years of surviving on your own. (Merlin recognises it, because Gwaine fights in the same way.)

Merlin is watching practise one morning, meaning he notices when Mordred takes a heavy blow to his shoulder and goes down. As usual, he scrambles to his feet straight away, but Merlin doesn’t like how he’s favouring his left side after that.

When Arthur calls for a break, Merlin tries to ignore the nerves in his stomach, and clears his throat. “Mordred?”

Mordred looks up. He doesn’t appear wary, more surprised, and he slowly walks over to where Merlin is standing.

Merlin gestures to his shoulder. “Are you alright? I saw you get hit.”

“I’ve had worse,” Mordred says hesitantly.

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, Gwaine uses that excuse, too, when he’s got a broken rib or half his spleen hanging out. Can I see?”

Mordred carefully takes off his armour, then rolls his sleeve up for Merlin to see. There’s a nasty bruise forming, a mottled yellow that will darken as the day goes on. Merlin feels along the bone, but there aren't any bumps or swelling.

“It’s just heavily bruised,” Merlin concludes. “But you can never be careful, okay? “

Mordred swallows, his eyes lowered to the ground. “I didn’t want to make a fuss.”

Something pangs in Merlin’s chest. Gwaine is hovering around, and Merlin gestures him over with a jerk of his chin. “You’re not. It’s better for you to get checked over, even if you think it’s nothing. If you had dislocated your shoulder, continuing to practice could have damaged it even further.”

He turns to Gwaine. “Isn’t that right, Gwaine? There’s never any harm in getting checked by a physician.”

Gwaine snorts. “Yes, there is. Never go to a physician, Mordred. They’ll just force nasty tasting potions down your throat and prod you with needles.”

“Gwaine!”

Gwaine holds his hands up. “It’s true, Merlin. The last time I came to you, I had to suffer through an hour of torture by needle and thread.”

“It was a stab wound and it was infected,” Merlin snaps. “I had to clean it, then stitch it up, or the infection would have spread and your entire arm would have fallen off.”

“That’s not true,” Gwaine snorts, then pauses. “It’s not, is it?”

“How would you know?” Merlin says archly. “You’re not a physician. Honestly, all the knights are like it. Arthur is the worst.”

“The worst at what?” Arthur asks, having arrived in time to hear the end of their conversation. “Merlin, do you ever say anything nice about me?”

Merlin shrugs. “Not when you’re around to hear it.”

Arthur sighs. “Wonderful.”

“Wouldn’t want your head to get as big as your - “ Merlin begins, then is abruptly cut off with a squeal, as Arthur pulls him into a headlock.

“They’re always like this,” Gwaine says in a bored tone to Mordred, who is watching with wide eyes as the King of Camelot scuffles with his manservant. “Wait until you can come on patrols. It’s even worse when they’re out of the castle.”

Arthur eventually lets Merlin up, and Merlin wheezes. He makes a half hearted attempt to comb his hair, before slumping against Arthur’s side. “I was just telling Mordred how terrible you are at attending physician appointments.”

“I’ve gotten better at it since I’ve had a change in personal physician,” Arthur argues.

“Who's your - what, _me_?” Merlin does a double take. “Since when am I your personal physician?”

“Uh, since Arthur refused to let anyone else patch him up,” Gwaine drawls. “And since you refused to let anyone else within five feet of an injured Arthur - “

“Anyway,” Merlin interrupts loudly. “The point is, Mordred, don’t be ashamed to get your injuries tended to. Masculine posturing won’t save your severed limb, okay?”

Mordred looks vaguely alarmed, but he bobs his head twice in agreement.

Arthur slings an arm around Merlin’s neck and drags him closer for a messy kiss to his cheek, before drawing his sword. “Right, back to work. Mordred, I’ll show you how you can block a parry like that next time.”

Mordred straightens, hand going to his own sword. “Thank you, my Lord.”

Arthur throws a glance over to his shoulder at Merlin. “You too, Merlin.”

“I’m not even practising today!” Merlin protests.

Gwaine squints at him. “Then what are you doing here?”

Merlin shrugs unashamedly. “Watching Arthur get sweaty, mostly.”

“Merlin!” Arthur hisses, colouring a delightful shade of pink.

“I’m allowed to do that, I’m the King’s favourite,” Merlin explains innocently.

Gwaine just snorts and shoves a sword into his hand. “Come on. King’s favourite or not, your footing could still use some work.”

“He’s not wrong,” Arthur calls, and Merlin pulls a face at him. Arthur just grins before turning back to Mordred, heads bent together as Mordred asks him a question.

Gwaine elbows him in the ribs. “Let’s go, personal physician.”

Merlin doesn’t even feel bad about using magic to trip him after a few minutes.

-

“What do you think of Mordred?” Arthur asks Merlin a few days later.

The sunlight warms Merlin’s back from his position on the window seat in Arthur’s chambers. He taps his quil against his mouth in thought, frowning down at the parchment in his lap.

“Hm?” Merlin answers absently.

“Mordred,” Arthur repeats loudly. “His training is going well, don’t you think?”

Arthur’s voice is muffled from where he’s changing behind the screen. Merlin looks up briefly, before adding a suggestion to his growing list. “He’s certainly a fast learner.”

“Very fast,” Arthur agrees. “He works harder than any other recruit, too. He was already out on the field when I arrived to lead practise this morning.”

“Not even Leon is out that early,” Merlin comments.

“That’s what I said!” Arthur exclaims. “And he didn’t even - what are you writing?”

“Nothing interesting,” Merlin says casually. “I’m planning your speech about introducing further tax reductions, for the council meeting on Thursday.”

“Dull,” Arthur mutters, and wanders off as Merlin had hoped he would.

Merlin isn’t actually writing a speech on tax reductions. It’s on his to do list, because there really is a council meeting on Thursday. But it’s very low on the list, because tax reductions are very boring and Merlin has more important things to do.

Like composing a list of possible gifts he could get for Arthur. So far, he only has two suggestions:

_Flowers_  
_Magical fireworks_

Merlin may have to rethink the last one, because magical fireworks would probably be too obvious. Magic is still banned in Camelot for now. Arthur seemed to like his dragon, though, so maybe he could create miniature fireworks. Just for the two of them.

“Do you know what the other knights think of him?” Arthur continues, rifling through his drawers for a clean tunic. “Leon and Gwaine seem to have taken him under their wing, but I don’t know about the rest of the men.”

“They think he’s young. Underestimate him.” Merlin pauses. “Do they know he’s a druid?”

“No.” Arthur holds up a white shirt and inspects it. “He asked me if he should tell them.”

Merlin blinks. “He did? What did you say?”

Arthur pulls the shirt over his head. “I told him it was his choice. He would have been protected if he’d decided to, but he’d said he’d rather wait. Until the magic ban was lifted. He - he said better to live the whole truth, than half of it.”

Merlin swallows, quill falling from his lax hands. Arthur’s mouth is twisted, his eyes unseeing as he gazes into the distance.

Arthur shakes his head, seeming to break out from his reverie. “Anyway, it’ll be time for his first mission soon. His chance to prove himself as a knight of Camelot.”

Merlin rescues his quill from the floor. “Isn’t that a bit quick?”

Arthur shrugs. “Not really. He’s made such progress in these past weeks, it’s time to see if he can put it into practice. Besides, he’s already saved my life once. If it hadn’t been using magic, then he’d be knighted already.”

Merlin is trying to be open minded when it comes to Mordred, but it’s still hard to get past that initial lurch of his stomach. He drops his eyes to his parchment instead. “Did you have an idea in mind?”

“There have been rumours of bandits in the white mountains. It could be - seriously, what are you writing?”

“Nothing!” Merlin says hastily, alarm rising in his chest as Arthur strides over to his seat. “It’s just your speech - “

“It’s clearly not when you - Merlin!”

“What?” Merlin says, like he didn’t just use magic to wipe the parchment free of any writing. Arthur snatches the parchment from him anyway, narrowing his eyes at the blank piece of paper. “Wait, did you say the white mountains?”

Arthur waves the paper in Merlin’s face. “Merlin, ignoring the obvious way your eyes just turned gold, I saw the writing on this!”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Are we really going to the white mountains?”

“Merlin!” Arthur huffs. “Fine, I’ll pretend I didn’t see that blatant use of magic. Why do you care about the white mountains so much?”

“Gaius says it’s home to many magical creatures,” Merlin says excitedly. “As well as many sites where magic was performed, years ago.”

“I’ve only travelled there once,” Arthur admits. “It’s not the easiest of paths, plenty of hidden trails and clearings. It’s right on Camelot’s border - half the mountain range is actually in another kingdom. So no wandering off in search of another dragon to bring home.”

“I can’t promise anything,” Merlin says seriously.

Arthur just groans, tightening the belt around his waist. “I wasn’t sure you’d even want to come on Mordred’s first mission.”

Merlin squirms. “Of course I do, why - why wouldn’t I?”

Arthur shrugs, though his eyes are fixed on Merlin’s. “Hm, no reason. Seriously, Merlin. If you’re going to sneak off to find a - a new species of unicorn, at least take me with you.”

Merlin stands from his seat, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. He kisses him softly, sighing into the feel of Arthur’s mouth moving against his.

“Arthur,” he murmurs when they separate. “I promise to take you with me to find everything but unicorns. Probably best to avoid those, with your track record.”

Arthur scowls at him, even as his hands are tightening around Merlin’s waist. “Everyone makes mistakes, Merlin. Like that time you let a goblin loose in the castle.”

“That’s got nothing to do with this,” Merlin splutters.

“Hasn’t it?” Arthur asks. “What about that time you - “

“Yes, alright,” Merlin interrupts. “No unicorns for you, no goblins for me. Everything else is on the table, though.”

“No, it isn’t,” Arthur says firmly, drawing Merlin even closer. “Do not bring home any strays, Merlin. Especially ones that could burn down the entire castle.”

“What about a - “

“_No_, Merlin.”

-

Sure enough, Mordred flies through the rest of his training. Merlin is there when Arthur calls Mordred to his chambers, to tell him that he’ll be coming on patrol with them for the first time. It’s awful. Mordred looks ready to cry. Arthur, emotionally inept as he is, looks ready to hug him. Merlin coughs pointedly to speed things up, and then there is a lot of bowing and gratitudes before Mordred finally leaves.

Arthur watches him go, mouth quirked fondly. Merlin waits until the door clicks shut, before nudging Arthur in the ribs. “Well, that’s sorted then.”

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand in an absent sort of way, linking their fingers together without much thought. “I have no doubt he’ll manage his first patrol without issue, but he’s so - young.”

Merlin recognises that look in Arthur’s eyes; it’s usually reserved for the village children or the occasional baby dragon.

“He’s not that young,” Merlin points out. “Gwaine kept riling him about it and turns out he’s only a few years younger than me. You just think that because he’s the baby of the group. His bloody - bloody doe eyes don’t help.”

“Doe eyes?” Arthur repeats in amusement.

Merlin sighs. “Yes. All big and wide and - deceptively harmless.”

Arthur frowns. “You think he isn’t harmless?”

Merlin pauses. “I didn’t say that.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, clearly unwilling to play this game. “Fine, it was heavily implied.”

“I only meant he looks defenceless with his big, round eyes, when in reality he’s a knight of Camelot,” Merlin amends. “Or will be the newest knight of Camelot.”

Arthur gives him a look like he’s not buying it. He’s been giving Merlin that look a lot recently. Merlin’s painfully aware that there’s things he still needs to tell Arthur, about the druids, about the prophecy, but he just can’t bring himself to. Not when he doesn’t have it clear in his own head. He’s just so used to dealing with this all on his own, he doesn’t know where to begin with sharing the burden with someone else.

“That’s the plan,” Arthur says slowly. “Did Gaius tell you anything more about the white mountains?”

Merlin grasps the change in topic gratefully. “Yes, he said there’s lots of rumours about the creatures that live there. There’s this river - “

“Any phookas?”

“Er, no, but there is - _holy shit_.”

Arthur blinks at him. “Er, Merlin?”

Merlin stares at him, something stirring in the back of his mind. “But it can’t - what was it the phooka said to you?”

“Which part?” Arthur scoffs. “He said plenty, half of it nonsense and most of it in verse. You’ll need to be more specific.”

“About the knights,” Merlin urges. “What did he say about the knights?”

Arthur shrugs, letting go of Merlin’s hand and wandering over to his bed. “You probably remember better than I do. I was a bit preoccupied with the part where he turned into a dog.”

Merlin follows him, moving to stand between Arthur’s legs. “Arthur, I’m serious! He said - “

Arthur heaves a sigh. “I don’t remember all of it, but he said something about lost knights. Three, I think, only I corrected him - “

“Three lost knights,” Merlin breathes.

“Yes, but he was wrong, because there were only two, Leon and Percival. We’d already sent Gwaine back to Camelot.” Arthur sighs again and looks up at Merlin from beneath his lashes. “Can I expect you to arrive at the point any time soon?”

“What if it was three lost knights?” Merlin asks, voice thick with disbelief. “Leon and Percival weren’t the only knights in that tower.”

“What do you - “ Arthur cuts off abruptly. “Wait, you mean - “

“Mordred. Mordred was the third knight to find.”

“But how - that - that can’t be.”

“Why not?” Merlin challenges, head swimming. “Phookas are ancient magical creatures. Perhaps he knew something we didn’t.”

“But we - we weren’t trying to find Mordred.”

“That doesn’t mean he wasn’t lost,” Merlin says softly.

They’re quiet for a moment, caught up in the memory. Arthur eventually speaks, his voice hushed. “But how - how could the phooka have known that?”

Merlin shrugs. “Like I said, he’s an ancient magical creature. He certainly knew who we were, and a great deal more besides.”

To his surprise, Arthur starts to laugh. Merlin’s heart does a little tumble at the sight of Arthur so carefree, about something magical no less, and he can’t help his answering smile. “What’s so funny?”

“It’s just - I’m not even surprised, by this point,” Arthur grins. “The man could turn into a crow, why wouldn’t he be able to tell the future, too?”

He’s never been able to resist a happy Arthur, and he doesn’t bother to now. He drops down onto Arthur’s lap instead, straddling him so his knees are either side of Arthur’s thighs. “Trust me, if the magic ban is lifted, I doubt that’ll be the strangest thing you’ll ever see.”

“When the magic ban is lifted,” Arthur corrects him, and warmth floods Merlin’s chest. He’s slightly taller than Arthur with how he’s knelt above him, and he leans down to press their foreheads together. “What’s the strangest thing you’ve ever seen then?”

Merlin thinks. “I don’t know, Princess Elena being possessed isn’t something I’m keen to repeat. Nor the journey to the perilous lands, even if we did find what we were looking for in the end.”

One of Arthur’s hands is resting on Merlin’s thigh, the other wrapped securely around his waist and keeping him in place. It’s nice, being so close like this, to entwine yourself with another person and just enjoy the feel of their hands on you. Merlin can’t describe it, only knows that he feels breathless, giddy, anytime he tries.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you about that,” Arthur says. “If you’re a Dragon Lord, why did the wyverns attack us? I know it must have been you who chased them off, but why did they even try in the first place?”

Merlin shrugs. “I don’t know. I don’t think wyverns are like dragons. They listened to me when they had to, but weren’t afraid to take a bite out of me if they had the chance. I don’t have the same - connection to them. My theory is - “

He stops abruptly, suddenly self-conscious that he’s babbling. Arthur nudges him. “Why did you stop?”

“You, er. I was rambling a bit. You can tell me to shut up if I’m being boring.”

Arthur tilts his head up gently. “We both know I have no issue with telling you to shut up when I need to. Now tell me about your theory.”

Merlin flushes, failing miserably to hide the way he’s beaming. “Gwaine said that the wyverns were distant cousins of the dragons. I think they’re a subspecies, which is why they don’t have all the same characteristics. They don’t have the same powers the dragons do, nor the same connection to the Dragon Lords. Did you see how they were far smaller than Kilgarah? And they couldn’t speak, either.”

“They weren’t particularly chatty, no,” Arthur agrees. “That’s a sound theory, Merlin.”

“And that’s all it is,” Merlin says wistfully. “I’m sure the Dragon Lords must have had records, research even, into all the different types of dragon. But if they did, it’d be lost by now.”

Arthur’s eyes are dark and solemn. “If the wyverns still exist, do you think there could be others - what did you call it? Subspecies of dragon? Do you think there could be other subspecies of dragon out there?”

“I - I don’t know,” Merlin answers, taken aback. “I’ve never thought about it before.”

Arthur leans in closer, his voice conspiratorial. “You know, there are always rumours from the northern seas. Rumours of great serpents beneath the waves.”

Merlin stares at him. “And you think it could be - that these serpents could be a - another type of dragon?”

“Or they could just be the words of drunken sailors, who had too much ale and took fright at a passing boat.” Arthur shrugs. “But how would anyone know, if they didn’t go look for themselves?”

Merlin is aware his jaw is hanging open, but he can’t help it. “And you’re - you’re suggesting we go look?”

Arthur shrugs again, deliberately innocuous, even as his hand tightens on Merlin’s hip. “I think it’d be a worthwhile trip for my court sorcerer to take.”

Merlin takes a deep breath. “Okay, you - I - I don’t know whether to cry or hug you right now.”

“I didn’t mean to make you cry,” Arthur says worriedly, and Merlin snorts and throws his arms around him. He buries his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck, breathing in the familiar scent of steel and leather and pine. Arthur hugs him back, arms tight around Merlin’s waist.

“But seriously, you’re not crying, are you?” Arthur murmurs after a moment, and Merlin lets out a choked laugh. “Gwaine will have my head if he sees so much as one tear.”

Merlin pulls away, rubbing at his cheek. “We both know you can take him.”

“Hm, that’s true,” Arthur hums, with a self-confidence Merlin finds far too attractive.

“I would like that,” Merlin says warmly. “Not you fighting Gwaine, as entertaining as that would be. But travelling to the northern seas - to different parts of the kingdom. Finding different creatures. Helping people. Teaching them not to be afraid.”

“I know it won’t bring the Dragon Lords back,” Arthur says quietly. “I’m not trying to gloss over the atrocities of the past, act as though they never happened by - “

“Arthur, hey,” Merlin interrupts, cupping his cheek. “I know. It’s alright. I know that’s not what you’re trying to do.”

Arthur heaves a great breath, his eyes troubled. “As long as you know that.”

“I do,” Merlin repeats firmly, and rests his forehead against Arthur’s once more.

-

They ride out for the white mountains a week later. The rumours of bandits have not abated and the area is due to be patrolled anyway. The way the mountain range is split between the two kingdoms means there needs to be a regular presence there, to ensure the boundary is kept to.

Unsurprisingly, the knights are absolutely merciless in their teasing of Mordred. They haven’t even left the courtyard before it begins, with Gwaine and Percival listing all the items Mordred has allegedly forgotten. (All of which are neatly packed on his horse.) Mordred looks alarmed, then confused, and there’s a moment where his face falls as he realises he’s been had. Merlin stiffens, waiting to see what Mordred will do next, how he will react. But Mordred just laughs, good humoured and a little bashful.

Because this is the knights, the teasing doesn’t stop there. Merlin is mainly keeping out of it, but even he has to stifle a laugh at Mordred riding backwards in his saddle for the first few miles.

When it is all revealed to be a prank, Gwaine laughs so hard he drops his water bottle and spills it everywhere. No one can bear his subsequent complaints of how he will die of thirst, so Arthur calls to a stop at a freshwater stream a while later.

“Try to keep a hold of it this time,” Arthur sighs to Gwaine, sliding off his horse. “We’re not stopping again, so it’ll just have to be a slow painful death for you, there’s no other option to be had.”

“And we’d all be so devastated,” Leon adds, dry as dust, which starts a three way bickering match.

Merlin ignores them and sidles over to Mordred. He is leading his horse to the stream, and Merlin joins him, Thistle’s reins in his own hand.

Mordred glances up as Merlin approaches. “Hello, Merlin.”

“Hello,” Merlin returns awkwardly. “How is your shoulder?”

“Much better, thank you.” Mordred runs a hand over his horse’s nose and she knickers affectionately. “That salve really helped with bruising.”

Merlin nods, bending down to fill his own water bottle with water. It always seems easier to speak to Mordred when he’s occupied with something. “You know the knights are only teasing, don’t you?”

“I do,” Mordred says, and when Merlin glances up, there is a small smile on his face. “I knew I wouldn’t escape my first patrol unscathed.”

“They’re idiots,” Merlin sighs. “But it’s just how they make you feel welcome. They’re good men.”

“You seem close with them,” Mordred ventures gingerly. “Especially Gwaine.”

Merlin hesitates. He could nod and end this exchange now, leave politely and walk back to Arthur and his friends. He could do that, could throw up those familiar walls and cut off Mordred’s tentative attempts at conversation at the knees.

Merlin doesn’t do any of those things. Instead, he says, “You know, it’s not just Arthur that knows about my magic. The others do too.” He smiles wryly. “Gwaine actually found out before Arthur did.”

Mordred’s eyes go wide. He casts a furtive glance over to where the knights are standing. “They all know?”

Merlin nods, and his heart clenches at the relief that spreads over Mordred’s face. He exhales shakily, taking an unsteady step forward. Mordred’s fear is Merlin’s fear; the fear of every sorcerer in the five kingdoms, that unburdening your greatest secret will lead you straight to the pyre.

“They do,” Merlin says gently. “I saved Gwaine’s life. He was badly injured, I didn’t have a choice. Same for Leon, though it was actually Arthur’s life I was saving.”

“Seems to be a habit for you, saving the lives of your friends. Often at the risk of your own.”

Merlin shrugs. “I just did what anyone would do.”

Mordred shakes his head. “I wonder, Merlin, if anyone has ever told you how brave you are.”

Merlin stills, unsure what to say to that. He clears his throat. “Anyway, Arthur said you haven’t told the others you’re a druid? That you have magic?”

Mordred looks down at his boots. “No, I - I would rather wait.”

“For the magic ban to be lifted?”

Mordred nods. “I - I don’t know the others the way you do. I haven’t survived this long by blindly trusting those around me. Even now, there are those in Camelot that question whether the druids should be allowed within the city. I can’t - “

“Mordred, you don’t have to explain,” Merlin frowns. “I understand.”

“You do?”

“I’ve kept my own share of secrets over the years.” Merlin spreads his hands. “Besides, only you get to decide who knows about your magic. That’s your choice, not mine.”

Mordred lifts his chin, eyes fierce. “You and Arthur know. That is more than enough. And Sir Leon, too, though I do not think he’d spill my secret.”

“He wouldn’t,” Merlin reassures him. “He’s the most loyal of Arthur’s knights. The most noble, too.”

“I know,” Mordred says wistfully. “I can only aspire to be half the knight he is one day.”

“I don’t know,” Merlin ponders. “Leon is alright, but Percival is the one to watch.”

“Is that so?” Mordred laughs. “I rather think you have your eye on another.”

Merlin grins. He turns to go, but Mordred calls, “Wait!”

Merlin raises an eyebrow. “Yes?”

“It’s good to know,” Mordred says hurriedly. “That Percival and Gwaine would - accept me. If they were to know the truth.”

He looks young then, young and uncertain and in need of reassurance, lips bitten red with worry.

Merlin clasps his shoulder. “You don’t have anything to worry about with those two. Neither of them were even born in Camelot, Percival in particular has only ever known Arthur’s rule. They are both kind and honourable, they’d never turn you away.”

He hesitates. “But you’re right to be cautious. Most of Camelot is happy with the changes Arthur is making, but there are those who think otherwise. Be careful.”

Mordred nods solemnly. “I know.”

“And don’t believe everything Gwaine tells you,” Merlin adds, and they both look at Mordred’s saddle and share a rueful smile.

-

They get going once more, only Gwaine and Percival hang back with Merlin this time, letting the other three ride ahead.

Merlin narrows his eyes, immediately suspicious. “I’m not joining in with whatever you have planned.”

Gwaine waves a hand. “What? No, that’s not what this is about.”

“Then what is it about?”

Percival leans in closer. “Are you going to use your magic against the bandits? Once we find them?”

Merlin blinks. “I - I suppose so, if I need to.”

Gwaine nods seriously. “Right, just maybe don’t be too obvious with it, yeah?”

“Why?”

“Because Mordred doesn’t know about your magic,” Percival explains.

“Mordred doesn’t what - “ Merlin frowns, then freezes. “Oh.”

Of course Gwaine and Percival think Mordred doesn’t know, because Gwaine and Percival don’t even know who Mordred _is_. The only people who know that are Leon, Arthur and Merlin. Gwaine wasn’t even in Camelot at the time of Mordred’s arrival and he was never taken hostage later on either. Percival was, but he never met Mordred, was thrown in the dungeon before he got the chance.

So in their eyes, there’s no reason to suspect Mordred’s secret, nor that Merlin had shared his own with him for that exact reason.

“Fuck,” Merlin mutters, irritated by how complicated this is all. Which is a mistake, because now Percival looks really alarmed.

“It’s alright,” he reassures Merlin. “If you need to use your magic, we’ll block his view of you.”

Gwaine is staring at Mordred’s back in contemplation. “Yeah, we won’t let him see. He seems alright, but you never know do you?”

“Know what?” Merlin manages, gazing longingly at a passing tree he could knock his head against.

“Whether he’s a prejudiced little bastard or not.” Gwaine elbows him. “You were talking earlier, weren’t you? Did he say anything about all sorcerers burning in hell?”

“No,” Merlin says in a strangled voice. “That never came up.”

Percival thumps him on the back. “Let us know if he causes you any trouble.”

“Will do,” Merlin says, and resists the urge to scream.

Thankfully, they stumble upon the bandits not too long after that, which is a good excuse to work out his frustrations. In a subtle way, because Gwaine keeps one eye on him and one on Mordred the entire time. At least he gets to knock a bandit into a tree when he gets a bit too close to Arthur, though only because Mordred is on the other side of the clearing chasing the others down.

The bandits cause them more trouble than initially suspected, but they’re still no match for the knights. Mordred fights bravely and, when it’s over, Arthur pulls him in for a one armed hug. Mordred turns bright pink, flushed not just from exertion but praise. He ducks his head as Leon ruffles his hair, beaming.

“Right, time to set up camp,” Arthur orders, watching in amusement as Mordred stumbles when Percival punches his shoulder. “Get on with it, I’ll find us something to eat.”

“I’ll provide the drink,” Gwaine grins, and pulls a bottle of something from his saddle and shakes it.

“Where were you even hiding that?” Leon asks incredulously.

“I brought it along to celebrate Mordred’s success.” Gwaine smirks. “Or to drown our sorrows if he failed miserably.”

“You have such faith in me,” Mordred says drily, and Percival snorts with laughter.

Merlin sighs. “Mordred, don’t drink anything Gwaine gives you.”

“Seriously don’t,” Leon agrees. “Gwaine, I’m going to pour that over your head if you don’t stop winking like that.”

“Come on,” Arthur mutters, taking Merlin’s hand as the squabbling starts. “I feel vaguely confident that Leon has this under control.”

Merlin follows him into the forest, hands entwined. Arthur is singing Mordred’s praises, but Merlin doesn’t say much. They’d set up snares when they arrived earlier, and he just follows Arthur quietly as he bends down to check them. The evening is drawing in around them, the sky streaked with grey and the shadows of forest stretching long into the distance.

“And did you see the way he parried the blow?” Arthur is saying. “It was skilfully done, I - Merlin? What is it?”

Merlin shrugs, lent against a tree whilst Arthur gets to his feet. “It’s nothing.”

Arthur frowns. “That doesn’t work on me and you know it.”

Merlin slumps his shoulders, feels the press of sharp bark against his back. “Percival and Gwaine don’t know Mordred is a druid.”

Arthur blinks. “Oh. I suppose they don’t.”

“So they don’t know he has magic,” Merlin continues tiredly. “Or that he’s aware of my own powers, for that exact reason.”

Realisation dawns on Arthur’s face. “Or the history between you two, which means they think you and Mordred are complete strangers.”

“Exactly.” Merlin lets out a breath. “So in their eyes, there’s no reason why I’d have told Mordred I was a sorcerer.”

“Which is why Gwaine was acting so strangely,” Arthur says slowly. “I thought he kept putting himself between you two.”

“So Mordred wouldn’t see me using magic.” Merlin rubs a hand over his face. “Why does it always have to be so complicated?”

Arthur takes a cautious step forward, watching for Merlin’s reaction. When he doesn’t move away, Arthur runs a hand slowly over Merlin’s arm, travelling all the way up to his shoulder before he rests it at the base of Merlin’s neck.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut for a brief second. “Sometimes it just feels - endless. You unravel one lie, only to find another lying in wait for you. And it’s not even my secret this time, it’s Mordred, so I can’t say anything. Not that I resent Mordred for that, I don’t mean it that way, I’m just - tired.”

“It must be difficult,” Arthur says quietly. “To carry that burden with you all the time.”

“It’s shit,” Merlin says bluntly, because if he’s angry he at least won’t cry. “It just catches up to me sometimes, how shit it is. How many lies I’ve told, how much there is to do, how far there is to go. There’s still things I haven’t told you, Arthur, because I don’t know how to, or because I’m scared of what you’ll think of me - “

He breaks off, horrified when a sob catches in his throat. Arthur makes a distressed sound, hands coming up to immediately cradle his face. “Merlin, I - “

Merlin dashes at his cheeks, hot with embarrassment. “It’s fine, I don’t - I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I wasn’t even upset earlier, it was only when Percival reminded me of it that - it brought it all back.”

Arthur swipes his thumb over the wet skin beneath his eyes. “Merlin, I - I’m not the most knowledgeable person on these things but. You’ve spent your entire life hiding who you are. I don’t think that just goes away.”

Merlin sniffs. “But things are better now. So what if I can’t tell Percival and Gwaine about Mordred?”

“Pain doesn’t work like that,” Arthur murmurs. “And in a way, perhaps that’s what upset you more. You were so happy with how things were, that it hurt even worse to be abruptly reminded that not everything was as it should be.”

Merlin leans forward and rests his head against Arthur’s shoulder with a thump. He’s too drained to do more than that, arms hanging limply at his side. Arthur doesn’t seem to mind, hands settling on Merlin’s hips.

“You’ve been through so much, Merlin,” Arthur breathes after a while. “When you’ve suffered for so long, the smallest things can be what push you over the edge.”

Merlin sighs, lifting his head. “It’s probably just a bad day.”

“Yes, but you’re allowed bad days, Merlin,” Arthur says gently. “You’re allowed bad weeks. Given everything that’s happened, I think it’d be more worrying if there weren’t moments where you needed to cry. Or shout, or be quiet, or need time by yourself.”

His tone is so soft, so tender, that Merlin could cry all over again. He doesn’t want to, though, so he just cuddles into Arthur instead and tries to calm his breathing. Arthur holds him tightly, face tucked into Merlin’s neck, pressing light kisses to the skin there.

“This helps,” Merlin mumbles eventually. “Talking to you about it. It reminds me that things are changing. It’s hard to remember that sometimes. I can’t always quiet my mind.”

Arthur draws back, brushing a kiss to Merlin’s forehead. “Do you want to stay here for a while longer? I can tell the others that all the snares were empty, that we had to search for game in the forest.”

Merlin rests his arms around Arthur’s neck, playing with his collar. “No. We should go back or Mordred will be annoyed I’ve ruined his celebration.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Mordred is the last one to think that.” He tucks a strand of hair behind Merlin’s ear. “And the only one to truly understand, I’d wager.”

“What do you mean?”

“He has magic,” Arthur says quietly. “I can’t know what that's like for you, can’t begin to understand. Even if there are times I wish I could.”

Merlin strokes the ends of Arthur’s hair. “It helps, having others that are - like me. It does. But having you here helps the most.”

“Good.” Arthur sighs. “You’re always there for me, Merlin. Let me do the same for you.”

“Okay,” Merlin whispers, and they don’t leave the clearing until the sky has turned dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hooooooooow do will all feel about merlin being sad at the end there - I worry it felt a bit clunky, but hopefully it fits okay in this story. There's just so much poor Merlin has to untangle and I think it's important to his character to acknowledge that. 
> 
> sigh mordred is baby. he and merlin arent best friends yet cause pacing UGH but at least they're warming up to each other.
> 
> I’ve never been as proud of anything as I have with the three knights thing lmaoooo 😂😂
> 
> bonus magic creature appearance next week ten points if you can guess which one 
> 
> this is going to be a short author's note, tbh, as I do not have much to say about this one! I am very excited for the next chapter because shit is about to really start going down
> 
> anyway i love all the comments on this, i am so grateful every time i see one in my inbox so thank you so very much!
> 
> Side note - for anyone interested, I got writers block with this chapter and wrote precisely 384 words of my merthur mob au instead whilst I was trying to get past it so like. That’s a thing now


	22. Chapter 22

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> magical creatures. angst. cliffhangers. ENJOY!

None of the knights say anything when Arthur and Merlin return to camp, half an hour after they set off. They act as though they’re too preoccupied with the celebrations, but Merlin knows his friends are more perceptive than that. He’d bet they’ve picked up on his mood and are being extra loud to cover for him.

They roast a rabbit over the fire, hungry from the day's exploits. Once he’s done with his, Merlin licks the grease from his fingers and stands. “I’m just going to settle the horses for the night.”

Arthur looks up at him. The flames flicker over his face, his lashes silver in the moonlight. He’s so handsome, staring at Merlin with soft eyes, and it’s enough to make his heart pitch. “Are you sure?”

“I wanted to say goodnight to Thistle anyway,” Merlin shrugs, and then, “Yes, _alright_,” when there’s a chorus of awes from the knights.

Merlin does want to say goodnight to Thistle, but he also wants to try out a new warding spell. They’ve camped out in forests plenty of times, but it never hurts to be cautious. Besides, he’s been itching for a chance to use his magic.

Once he’s out of sight of the group, he crouches down and closes his eyes. The book said to visualise the area he wanted to protect, so he focuses on that now. Unbidden, his mind goes to who he wants to protect within that area, and his magic kicks to life, spilling out of him.

When he opens his eyes, he can see a golden ring, glowing in the dark in the outline of their little camp. It fades into the darkness before long, but Merlin can tell it’s there.

“Not bad for a first try,” Merlin whispers to himself, grinning as he feels his magic hum under his skin. He’ll now know if any danger approaches them. It should also deter anyone from coming too close.

It feels freeing to use his magic like this, so close to the knights without fear of repercussion. There’s no looking over his shoulder, no hurried incantation or fumbling fingers. The worst thing to happen would be Gwaine and Percival panicking about Mordred seeing, which would be easy to wiggle out of.

He presses a hand to the earth, feels how it vibrates under his palm from the invisible line that surrounds them. Gaius has said the white mountains were rife with magic and he can tell now. It’s on the breeze, in the dirt. He wonders if Mordred can feel it too.

He stays for a few heartbeats, the grass tickling his hands and the air cool on his cheeks. He’d needed this, after his outburst earlier, and he feels infinitely calmer when he finally makes his way back to camp.

The knights have progressed to sitting around the campfire, passing Gwaine’s bottle between them. There’s a large wooden log on one side which Arthur and Leon are perched on. Gwaine, Percival and Mordred are all sat opposite. Upon seeing him, Leon moves over to make room, but Merlin has a different plan.

He weaves around the fire, before taking a seat between Arthur’s legs. Arthur’s calves are warm and solid either side of him, and he loops an arm around Arthur’s knee.

Arthur drapes his arms over Merlin’s shoulders and leans forward to murmur in his ear. “Comfortable?”

“Yes, thanks,” Merlin says cheekily, and Arthur just laughs. He settles so his back is against the log, more than comfortable in this position.

“We should make a toast,” Leon announces. “To Sir Mordred.”

“Yes, to Sir Mordred,” Arthur agrees. “For a successful first mission.”

Mordred blushes when they all toast him, mumbling about how it was a team effort. His eyes flit to Merlin’s, his smile widening when Merlin raises his own bottle a loft.

“And to Sir Gwaine,” Gwaine says. “For teaching him everything he knows.”

Arthur scoffs. “The only thing you taught him was what not to do.”

“Like throw a ball at the King’s boyfriend,” Leon mutters, and they break into laughter.

“Never going to let me live that one down, are you?” Gwaine huffs. “It didn’t even bruise.”

“You threw a ball at Merlin?” Mordred asks tentatively.

He’s sitting a little apart from the others, knees drawn to his chest as he watches the conversation. He’s the newcomer, Merlin realises. The knights are really welcoming, but it still must be a little daunting, especially when everyone already knows each other so well.

“I was standing still and not looking, so it was obviously the right time to do so,” Merlin explains drily, and Gwaine gives him a dirty look.

“Don’t bring it up again, Arthur looked ready to have my head last time.” Clearly wanting to change the subject, Gwaine reaches over and claps Mordred on the back. “Let’s play a drinking game.”

“No,” Leon, Arthur and Merlin say as one.

Gwaine frowns. “Why not?”

“I don’t like your drinking games,” Leon scowls. “Mordred, don’t play drinking games with Gwaine.”

“And don’t play cards with Merlin,” Percival adds. “He cheats.”

“I don’t cheat!” Merlin says indignantly. “You’re just all terrible and won’t admit it!”

“You are all terrible,” Arthur points out, and Merlin tilts his head back to smile at him.

Gwaine takes another swig of his ale. “You’re biased.”

“I’m not. I would tell Merlin if he was terrible at it.”

“He probably would,” Merlin sighs, and Percival snickers.

“So no drinking and no card games,” Mordred summarises. “Whatever will we do for fun?” Mordred, Merlin is coming to realise, has a quiet, dry sense of humour.

Gwaine begins to spin a tale about their last patrol, Leon and Percival interjecting from time to time to correct him. The murmur of their voices is comforting, the fire a pleasant warmth in front of him. Merlin rests his head on Arthur’s thigh after a little while, and let’s his eyes close.

He must drift off, because he comes to a while later, that hazy place in between sleeping and waking.

“ - wake him?” someone is saying.

“No, let him sleep,” Leon murmurs. “Merlin has been through enough these past few weeks. No wonder he’s tired.”

“His neck is at a weird angle,” Percival comments. “How is that even comfortable?”

“Guess he’s had lots of experience sleeping between - “

“If you finish that sentence, Gwaine, I’m going to run you through with a sword. Not shut up, or he really will wake up.”

Merlin drifts back off to sleep, far too exhausted to resist any longer.

-

Arthur must have moved him, because he wakes up - thankfully- in a different position. He’s in the same spot by the log, so Merlin suspects Arthur just manhandled him to the floor like a sleepy puppy.

He’s curled on his bedroll, a blanket neatly tucked over his shoulders. Arthur is lying beside him, face lax and peaceful in sleep. They’re not sharing the blanket, but Arthur has one arm thrown over Merlin’s waist, as though making sure he’s still there.

Merlin watches him for a moment, admiring the way the dawn light spills over his face. Then he decides it’s creepy to watch people sleeping, and carefully wiggles out from under Arthur’s arm.

He yawns as he pulls on his boots. From what he can remember there’s a nearby stream, and he’s suddenly desperate to wash up.

He finds the stream easily enough, dipping down to splash his face in the cool water. He washes his face twice, clearing the sleep from his eyes, before standing, and that’s when he sees it.

“No,” Merlin says instinctively. “I - just. No.”

He has no idea how he missed it, but then again it probably just popped up out of nowhere. Magical creatures seem to have a habit of doing that around him.

“No,” Merlin orders, holding out his hand to stop it from approaching. “Just - just stay there until I figure out what you are. Did you have to do this before I’ve even had my breakfast?”

From a distance, you could mistake the creature standing in the middle of the stream for a large, black horse. On closer inspection, what looks like a mane is actually made up of inky green weeds, trailing down past its shoulders. And Merlin has never met a horse with sleek, mottled skin, more like that of a seal than anything with four legs.

Merlin clicks his fingers. “You’re, uh, a kelpie?”

The kelpie had been staring at him with dark, unblinking eyes. Now, it takes a step forward. There’s something unnerving about the way it glides through the water. Merlin isn’t even sure it has hooves.

Merlin can’t help yelping as it approaches, and his magic flares instinctively, golden sparks shooting from his hands. That does stop the kelpie in its tracks. It huffs curiously, tilting its head to one side.

His mind has gone completely blank, so Merlin goes for broke and lifts his hands again. Golden light spills out of his hand as he conjures a flickering ball of light.

The kelpie cranes its neck as the ball floats towards it. It rears away when it comes too close, throwing its head back and splashing over to the bank.

It startles Merlin into laughing; it reminds him abruptly of the palace cats jumping when they’ve knocked over a jug of milk.

“I have magic like you,” Merlin explains coaxingly. “So no drowning me, okay?”

The kelpie inches back over to him. It’s still pretty intimidating, but Merlin holds his ground. The kelpie looks him over with interest. After a moment, it buts its huge head into Merlin’s shoulder.

The force of it has Merlin staggering backward. His tunic is instantly soaked, the kelpie's coat as wet as though they were completely submerged in water. The kelpie not so subtly lips at his sleeve, and Merlin pulls his arm away.

“No drowning,” Merlin tells him firmly. The kelpie looks sad. How the giant demon horse looks sad, Merlin doesn’t know, but he does. “No. No drowning.”

The kelpie hangs its head like Merlin is the one being unreasonable. It pushes its nose into Merlin’s chest and he cautiously touches its skin. It’s smooth and slick, just like that of a seal.

After a rocky start, the kelpie appears to calm under Merlin’s touch. He can feel its magic now; elemental and raw, akin to that of the phooka.

There’s a crashing behind him and he turns to see Mordred, panting and pale faced. “Are you alright? I felt something- is that a kelpie?”

The kelpie’s ears go back and it whinnies hopefully.

“You can’t drown Mordred either,” Merlin says, and it heaves a great sigh and goes back to drenching his shirt by rubbing its face into it. “Have you seen one of these before?”

Mordred takes a cautious step forward, sheathing his sword. “From a distance, but yes. And I’ve heard the tales. Usually - usually they lure people onto their backs. Drown them, or at least take them for a terrifying ride under the water.”

“That’s what I thought the stories said, but my mind went blank when this lump barrelled into me.”

Mordred makes a choked sound. “It - it likes you.”

Merlin flushes. “I - I was just firm with him. Got to have clear boundaries with things that might eat you.”

Mordred holds out a tentative hand. When the kelpie doesn’t flinch, he runs his palm over its flank. Merlin knows the look of awe on Mordred’s face is the same expression he wore earlier.

“He’s beautiful,” Mordred murmurs. “I never thought I’d see a kelpie up close. He must be able to tell you have magic.”

“That’s what I thought.” Merlin pauses. “Does this mean he’s going to try to drown the knights?”

“I think that’s a distinct possibility, yes,” Mordred says slowly.

“For god’s sake,” Merlin mutters. “Well, he’ll probably leave Arthur alone, at least.”

Mordred frowns at him. “Why Arthur?”

Merlin sighs. “Magical creatures always love Arthur.”

Mordred gives him an odd look.

Merlin chokes on his own spit. “I - I didn’t mean me!”

“You don’t love Arthur,” Mordred concludes.

“What? I - it’s - that’s not the point!” Merlin can feel himself turning red, and he hides it by pressing his forehead against the kelpie’s cool one. The kelpie blinks at him with black pupils. Merlin thinks it’s kind of cute. “What are we going to do about - “

Arthur comes thundering into the clearing. He takes one look at Merlin and swears. “What the - that better not be another bloody phooka, Merlin!”

“It’s not!”

“It better not be!” Arthur hisses. The kelpie’s ears go back, gaze fixed on Arthur, and he pales. “What - what is that?”

The kelpie scents the air and takes a not so subtle step forward. Merlin pushes at its shoulder. “It’s a kelpie.”

“No, it’s not,” Arthur says stiffly, hand clenched around the hilt of his sword. “That doesn’t look anything like a seal.”

“What? Oh, no, that’s a selkie. This is a kelpie.”

“Forgive me for missing the distinction,” Arthur snaps. “What does a kelpie do, exactly?”

“Drowns people,” Mordred supplies helpfully, then flushes when Arthur stares at him. “Uh. According to the tales, Sire.”

“But he hasn’t drowned anyone yet!” Merlin points out quickly.

Arthur is still staring. “It has webbed feet.”

Huh. Merlin hasn’t noticed that until now.

“Why hasn’t it tried to drown you or Mordred, yet?”

“Uh, I think because we have magic.” The kelpie snorts, as if confirming his theory. Perhaps he is, Merlin wouldn’t be that surprised if it could understand them. “He probably won’t drown you either. The selkies liked you - “

“Merlin, its teeth look as though they could cut through steel!”

Merlin hasn’t noticed that either; the kelpie has a row of sharp, jagged teeth. It’s just another in a long line of disconcerting features.

“My Lord,” Mordred interrupts, obviously sensing the argument brewing between them. “Perhaps it would be best to guide the kelpie back into the stream.”

Arthur starts to say what a brilliant idea this is. The kelpie decides to take this moment to collapse onto the floor.

“Uh, no,” Merlin says anxiously. “No, get up, come on.”

The kelpie neighs, only it sounds distinctly like a laugh. Cute or not, Merlin would very much prefer never to hear that sound again.

“Merlin, what is it doing?” Arthur asks in a strangled voice.

The kelpie has its head rested on its legs, in a way that would be completely impossible for a real horse to do. It has a long, swishing tail, and the kelpie is so close to the bank that half of it is still submerged in the water. As the sun passes overhead, it seems to glint in the light, a iridescent mixture of greens and blacks and blues.

Merlin narrows his eyes. “I think it’s sunbathing.”

The kelpie swishes its tail once, as if to say _obviously_.

“Perhaps we should just leave him to it,” Mordred suggests tentatively. “It’s not as though there are many travellers to these mountains. We can make sure the other knights steer clear, take a different path back to Camelot.”

“But - we can’t just leave it,” Arthur protests, though it’s half hearted.

“This is his home,” Merlin points out. “Mordred’s right, hardly anyone comes here. We could spread the word! Warn people to stay away.” He casts an eye over the creature beside him. “Personally, I think you deserve to get soaked if you’re stupid enough to go for a joy ride on that thing.”

The kelpie grunts and flicks him with his tail. “Er, no offence.”

Arthur is watching the kelpie with a strange expression. His hand has fallen from his sword, but he’s still stiff, mouth a thin line as he appraises the scene in front of him.

“Arthur,” Merlin calls softly. “Come here.”

Arthur curls his hands into fists. Merlin keeps forgetting how different their initial reactions are. For Merlin, Mordred too, it’s awe, fascination. Arthur’s is a far more cautious response; a mixture of uncertainty and disquiet. It’s a constant task for Arthur to unlearn the fears drilled into him from childhood, though he does try.

Merlin crouches down beside the kelpie, boots slipping in the muddy bank. “Come here, Arthur. It’s alright, I promise.”

Mordred is watching Arthur, too, eyes wide. Hesitantly, Arthur makes his way over to Merlin’s side. He’s almost there when the kelpie scents the air. His eyes fly open, lifting his head suddenly as its gaze snaps to Arthur.

Arthur halts immediately. “What? Why did it do that?”

The kelpie makes a low keening noise,

Mordred inhales. “I think it knows who you are.”

Arthur shakes his head, still frozen in place. “It can’t. I don’t have magic, how would it know?”

“You don’t have magic,” Merlin agrees. “But you are the once and future _King_. You’re destined to bring magic back to Camelot.”

“Or he can feel your connection to Merlin,” Mordred says quietly, and both Arthur and Merlin turn to him in shock. “Emrys is magic. And you are under his protection.”

Arthur looks dubious. Merlin stares at him beseechingly, until he sighs and steps closer again. Merlin wraps a hand around his wrist, pulling Arthur down beside him.

Arthur has always been brave, so Merlin isn’t surprised when Arthur takes a deep breath and reaches out to run the tips of his fingers over the kelpie’s side. He pulls his hand back, turning to Merlin in surprise. “It’s wet!”

Merlin grins. “I know!”

“Like a seal,” Arthur muses, running a careful hand over the kelpie’s neck. “Why doesn’t it have a smooth coat? Like a horse?”

“Why doesn’t it have hooves?” Merlin counters. “It’s just how they’re made.”

“And usually it’d be trying to drown us?”

“Uh, yes.” Merlin clears his throat. “I think usually they’d be a lot more - maiming. And stuff.”

The kelpie yawns widely, a black tongue flickering over pointed teeth. Arthur flinches. “Right.”

They stay for a few minutes more. Arthur runs his fingers through the tangled mane, frowning when they get caught on the weeds there. At one point, the kelpie shifts and thumps its head down onto Arthur’s lap. Arthur goes very still, akin to how you might act if a wolf was using you as a throw cushion.

“Well,” Arthur says after a while, his voice admirably even. “This has been very - interesting, but I believe it’s time to return to camp.”

Merlin feels a bit sad about that, but he knows it’s time to leave. Mordred looks equally wistful. “You’re right. The last thing we want is for the others to come looking for us.”

The kelpie doesn’t move its head. Arthur looks pained, and Merlin has to bite his lip to stop the sudden burst of laughter in his throat. Gingerly, Arthur pushes at the kelpie’s muzzle, which results in a lot of grumbling, but Arthur is finally freed to climb to his feet.

Once Arthur’s standing, the kelpie stretches languidly. It snorts at them, before turning and sliding back into the water. Only its mane is visible, inky green tendrils on top of the water, before it sinks under the surface completely and is gone from sight completely.

Merlin waits to see if it’ll come back up, but the water is completely still. It’s as though it was never there in the first place.

“Please say that’s the only magical creature that’ll be emerging from this stream,” Arthur mutters.

Merlin does laugh then, the sound loud and joyous. Arthur startles, but Merlin just leans forward and kisses him soundly. Arthur is too shocked to reciprocate fully, but he doesn’t mind, pulling away to brush another kiss against Arthur’s cheekbone.

“What was that for?” Arthur murmurs, a dazed look in his eyes.

Merlin grins. “Putting up with me. Even if it means being introduced to magical river horses with webbed feet.”

Arthur colours. “Well, just don’t make a habit of it. I’m drenched through.”

He links their hands together, Mordred following as they make their way back to camp. Merlin is shivering by now, also soaked from the kelpie draping itself over him like a house cat.

Arthur shrugs out of his cloak and wraps it around Merlin’s shoulders. “Can you stop a kelpie from drowning you?”

Merlin snuggles into the cloak gratefully. “I read somewhere that you can tame a kelpie, if you have a silver bridle and can manage to get it on one.”

“More fool the man who tries that,” Arthur snorts. “Mordred, have you seen one of those creatures before?”

Mordred nods. “Yes, Sire. When I travelled around the northern isles, I saw one from a distance. The waters were far colder there, though.”

Arthur sighs. “Let’s not tell the others about this. Gwaine will just want to see it for himself. And I’m already soaked, I’m not diving into a stream to save him.”

-

The ride back to Camelot is a pleasant one. There’s talk of Mordred’s knighting ceremony, as well as the feast that will be thrown in his honour. Mordred is beaming from ear to ear.

It’s late afternoon when they arrive back in Camelot. Inexplicably, George is waiting for them, his posture perfect as he stands by the courtyard steps.

“George,” Arthur greets him in amusement, sliding from his horse. “Is everything well?”

George inclines his head. “Yes, Sire. We have received a message from Lord Agravaine.”

Merlin is in the middle of dismounting and he slips, foot catching painfully in the stirrup. He manages to right himself, staring at George.

“He is due to arrive this evening, my Lord.”

It’s only because Merlin can read Arthur so well, that he can tell he’s surprised. You’d never know from the outside, the King as poised as usual.

“My Uncle is early,” Arthur comments casually. “I thought the bridge at Gedref would delay his journey. It was damaged in the recent storm.”

“The bridge has been fixed, Sire,” George explains. Merlin would just bet it has been. He’s sure a certain witch would have seen to that. “He is due to arrive just before nightfall. I have prepared his chambers.”

“Thank you, George. I look forward to welcoming him back to the castle.” Arthur glances over his shoulder. “Sir Leon, I’m afraid I’ll need to debrief you before I can let you retire for the evening.”

“Of course, Sire,” Leon says easily, even as his hand falls to his sword.

“Master Merlin, shall I take your horse to the stables?” George asks politely.

“It’s just Merlin,” Merlin says, flustered. His hands are clumsy as he hands over Thistle’s reigns. “Thank you, George. Could you ask them to give her a good rub down, please?”

“It would be my honour,” George breathes, sweeping into a bow, which is tricky when you are attached to a nine hundred pound mare. To give him credit, George does pull it off.

Arthur holds his hand out to Merlin, casual, courteous, as though he’s escorting a noble lady. When Merlin takes it, his grip is tight.

None of them speak until they’re back in Arthur’s chambers. Percival and Gwaine had ushered Mordred to the armoury, so it’s only Leon, Arthur and Merlin.

“What’s our play?” Leon asks gravely.

“What it’s always been.” Arthur sits down heavily in a chair. “He’s more useful to us when he doesn’t know we’re aware of what he’s really doing. You know that.”

Leon looks grim. “I do. But this is a dangerous game, Arthur. How long do we let this go on for?”

Merlin leans against a wooden post, crossing his arms. “Morgana hasn’t made a play for a while now. If she’s not planning something, she soon will be. I don’t like it either, but if Agravaine is in the castle, we have a better chance of finding out what they’re plotting.”

Leon turns to him. “Your magic - could it track him? If he left the castle?”

Merlin nods. “Yes, that’d be easy.”

“We can intercept his messages,” Arthur adds. “Morgana isn’t stupid enough to send letters, but I bet Agravaine is arrogant enough to.”

“Arrogant enough to have moonlight meetings in the woods, too,” Merlin mutters. “We probably wouldn’t even need to track him.”

“He can be arrogant,” Leon says quietly. “He is the King’s Uncle. From a strategic point of view, his plan is excellent. Infiltrate the castle, work his way into your confidence. Exploit the fact you’re family - “

“Leon,” Merlin hisses, but Arthur holds up a hand.

“It’s alright, Merlin. I rely on Leon to be honest with me.” He sighs. “Better to be direct, then to miss the knife headed for my back.”

“We should double the guards,” Leon suggests. “And keep changing the patrol routes.”

Merlin nods. “And I want to ward your chambers.”

Leon looks at him in interest. “You can do that?”

Merlin shrugs. “I should be able to. I’d ward the whole castle if I could, but I don’t have the power to do that. Even if I did, I’m pretty sure it’d be too draining to keep up.”

Arthur leans forward. “How would the wards work?”

“They’d stop anyway from being able to curse you,” Merlin explains. “Like if Agravaine tried to hide a hex bag under your bed, we’d know about it.”

“I hope we’d bloody know if my Uncle was lurking under my bed,” Arthur grumbles. “You spend half your nights in my bed anyway, why do I have to have wards?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Because I don’t live in your chambers, Arthur. Neither do you. It’d be too easy for someone to slip in and plant something.”

Arthur inclines his head. “Good point. Then we’re all agreed? We continue as usual, find out what we can.”

“I don’t see that we have any other option.” Leon sighs. “Even if we confronted Agravaine now, there’s no guarantee he’d tell us anything. And we could provoke Morgana into attacking before we have time to prepare.”

“Perhaps I _should_ ward the entire castle,” Merlin mutters, and they all share grim looks.

-

By both coincidence and unspoken agreement, Merlin steers clear of Agravaine for a day or two. Gaius has him busy with a round of flu in the lower town, which keeps him out of the castle and tending to the people. Alternatively, Merlin is pretty certain he’ll punch Agravaine’s smug face in if he sees him, so. Best to stay away until he’s calmed down enough not to break the nose of the King’s Uncle.

At first, the townspeople seem surprised to see him still completing his usual duties. Their eyes go to the sigil, then to his fine clothes, and finally to the roll of bandages in his satchel. Merlin takes his usual tack of pretending nothing is wrong, asking about their families as he patches them up, and they soon relax. Their thanks are a lot more enthusiastic than usual, and one old woman even presses an entire pie into his hand.

It sets him in good spirits all day, smiling as he cleans Arthur’s armour in his chamber later on. He hums as he polishes the metal, thinking about the look of gratitude on the woman’s face.

Merlin hasn’t given a lot of thought to what kind of King Consort he’ll be, mainly because he still can’t believe any of this is happening. He likes the idea that the people will know he isn’t any different just because he’s in finer clothes. That he’s still Merlin, that he still cares about the people of the lower town even if he’s in a crown. (Is there a crown? That’s definitely too much for Merlin to comprehend right now.)

He’s so lost in thought, that he jumps when the door creaks open. He’s expecting Arthur, or perhaps one of the maids, but his heart jumps when he sees it’s Agravaine.

Agravaine walks into the room as though he owns it. It’s been so long since Merlin’s seen him, that the sight of him is a shock to his stomach. Agravaine looks around, before his eyes land on Merlin. They skate past him almost immediately, Merlin unworthy of his close attention. “Where is the King?”

Merlin takes a moment to answer. “He’s in the council chambers.”

Agravaine sighs, as though Merlin is an irritating fly he’d like to swat away. He’s never usually so brazen in his complete disregard for servants, but Arthur’s not here. And Merlin’s so beneath him, Agravaine can’t even comprehend the thought Merlin would complain.

“Tell him I’m looking for him when he arrives,” Agravaine orders.

“Of course, my Lord,” Merlin says through gritted teeth, moving to place Arthur’s armour on the table, turning in Agravaine’s direction to do so.

Agravaine moves so fast then, that Merlin is taken completely by surprise. One moment Merlin is putting Arthur’s armour down with a clank. The next, there’s a hand gripping his wrist and he’s crying out in pain.

“Where did you get that?” Agravaine hisses, face white with anger. “Did you steal it, you little thief?”

“Let go of me!” Merlin tries to yank his wrist free, but Agravaine’s grip is bruising. His magic is going haywire beneath his skin, exploding in his veins at the burst of pain. “What are you talking about?”

“That is my sister’s sigil!” Agravaine roars, and Merlin has never been frightened of him before now, not really. Frightened of what he could do, how he could harm Arthur. But he’s frightened now. “How did you get it? You must have taken it, rooting around the King’s chambers - “

“What is the meaning of this?” Arthur demands, running into the room. “Let go of him, now!”

Agravaine stares at him in confusion. “But he - “

“_Now_!” Arthur shouts, hand going to his sword, and Agravaine drops Merlin’s wrist, in shock more than response to Arthur’s order.

Merlin immediately moves away from him, cradling his wrist to his chest. His heart is pounding in his chest like a frightened deer.

Agravaine looks between the two of them, brow furrowed. “My Lord, I found this servant wearing your mother’s sigil. I only meant to apprehend the thief - “

“He’s not a thief,” Arthur cuts in, tone low and deadly. “I gave him that sigil.”

Merlin can see when it clicks into place in Agravaine’s mind. Agravaine has never been slow. Merlin can see the way he’s cataloguing everything; the sigil, the clothes that are too fine for a regular servant. How Arthur’s face is flushed in anger, how his gaze is drawn to Merlin’s every other heartbeat, as though making sure he is not harmed.

“I had come to talk about the rumours I’ve heard around the castle,” Agravaine says slowly. “That you’ve taken a favourite.”

“I have,” Arthur answers evenly. “Merlin has been my closest confidante for years. He’s brave and loyal.”

Arthur takes a cautious step forward, until he’s leaning against his bedpost. It’s a deliberately relaxed gesture, placing him between Agravaine and Merlin, without looking like he’s doing so. It brings the tension in the room down a notch, Agravaine’s shoulders relaxing.

“The people already know him, for his duties as apprentice physician,” Arthur continues pleasantly. He looks for all the world like a man rhapsodising about his lover. Guileless. Harmless. “He is well liked among them and has proven his commitment to them time and again.”

He shoots Merlin a fond look. “I can imagine no one better to be by my side.”

He plays it absolutely perfectly and, in turn, Agravaine falls for it completely. It helps that Agravaine wants to believe it. He wants to believe that Arthur is a love sick fool, that he is really that naive. Because if it's true, then this is another angle he can exploit, this opens the door for Agravaine to manipulate Arthur in countless other ways.

Merlin wants to knock him clear across the room.

He could do it, too. His magic is still vibrating, listless and barely leashed. Merlin has to make a conscious effort to reign it back in.

Agravaine is skilled at this too, and he’s already pulling himself together. He ducks his head, sickeningly deferential. “Then I owe you a great apology. I saw the sigil of my sister and I - I - well, surely you understand?”

This time the pain on Arthur’s face is real. It’s what makes Agravaine so convincing. It’s why his ploy could have worked, would have worked, if things were different. “I do.”

Agravaine turns to Merlin then, eyes bright with unshed tears. “I am so sorry for grabbing you like that. My sister was very dear to me. Marlin, was it?”

“Merlin,” Merlin corrects crisply, though Agravaine already knew that.

“Ah, yes, Merlin.” Agravaine nods. “I apologise profusely for hurting your wrist. I hope you can forgive me.” He smiles. “I only wish happiness for my nephew. I hope in time we can become friends.”

Merlin rubs at his wrist, glancing across to Arthur. He knows how to play his own role, the lowly servant, uncertain and in need of reassurance. “So do I.”

Agravaine turns to Arthur. “We can speak more on this later. I’ll take my leave.”

“Goodbye, Uncle,” Arthur says, and Agravaine bows once before walking out of the door.

He’s barely been gone a second, before Arthur turns to him. “Merlin - “

“_Wait_,” Merlin snaps.

His wrist is still painful, so he has to use his other hand for balance as he crouches to the floor. He slams his palm against the stone, more forceful than intended, and his magic escapes in a rush, like a hound straining against its leash.

It pulses through the room, Merlin’s ears ringing with the strength of it. He pants when he’s done, climbing to his feet on shaky legs.

Arthur rushes to him, helping him up. “What was that? Are you alright?”

“Wards,” Merlin manages. “I should have fucking done it earlier. Stop that scumbag - “

“Alright, alright,” Arthur says soothingly. He guides Merlin over to the bed, until they’re both seated on the edge. “Let me see you wrist, sweetheart.”

Merlin holds his arm out and Arthur inspects it carefully. There’s a bright ring of pink from where Agravaine grabbed him. It stings and Merlin can tell it’s going to bruise.

“I’m going to kill him,” Arthur announces flatly. “I don’t care about the plan. Let’s just kill him.”

“Not if I kill him first,” Merlin spits. “God, the way he - he’s so - I - “

He’s so angry he can’t get the words out. Arthur shushes him gently, lifting Merlin’s wrist to brush a kiss against his pulse. “I know.”

“He’s dangerous, Arthur!” Merlin shakes his head. “Did you see how quickly he adapted to the change in situation? He was shocked, you could tell, but he didn’t lash out, he didn’t ask how you could favour a servant. He realised quickly that it would only push you away further, so he switched to congratulations instead. And he used - used - “

His voice shakes. Arthur’s eyes go wide, rubbing soothing circles over his raw skin. “Merlin?”

“He used your mother to do it!” Merlin snarls. “He knows what that’d do to you - right, that’s it. I’m killing him.”

Arthur cups his head with one palm, forcing Merlin to look at him. “Merlin, you need to breathe.”

“I need to rip Agravaine’s head from his shoulders,” Merlin mutters, but reluctantly does what he’s told.

He has to admit he feels calmer after a few minutes of steadying his breath. Arthur’s fingers are gentle as they thread his hair. His magic begins to settle, comforted by the wards that keep them safe and cocooned from the outside world.

“Fine,” Merlin grumbles finally. “I’m calm, now. I’m not going to - run off and set Agravaine’s greasy hair on fire, or anything.”

Arthur laughs softly. “Well, perhaps not yet.”

Merlin frowns. “You need to be careful now, Arthur. Agravaine can use this as an excuse to get you on your own. To discuss - royal protocols on consorts, go over the expected procedures. He might try the doting Uncle angle, engineer a heart to heart to lure you to his chambers.”

“I know.” Arthur rests his forehead against Merlin’s. “I know. I’ll be careful.”

“We need to tell Leon,” Merlin murmurs. “He needs to know Agravaine is on the back foot. That he’s likely to be scheming something.”

“We’ll tell him,” Arthur promises softly. “For now, let’s just - stay here for a moment. You’re hurt.”

Arthur pulls him gently down onto the bed, carefully not to jostle his wrist. Merlin curls into him, resting his head on Arthur’s chest and listening to the steady beat of his heart.

“I’m sorry that he mentioned your mother,” Merlin whispers.

Arthur runs a hand over Merlin’s back. His voice is hushed, pained. “I think he really did love her. He really believes this will - avenge her.”

“Maybe.” Merlin rests his hand on Arthur’s waist. “But he’s lost sight of that love. This is about his own desires now. Revenge. Guilt, perhaps, that it’s taken so long for him to act. This isn’t what your mother would have wanted. It’s - selfish.”

“Then he’s like my father.” Merlin sits up in surprise, using his elbow to prop himself up on Arthur’s chest. “His hatred has consumed him. He thinks more bloodshed will somehow cure him of the pains of the past. You’re right, my mother wouldn’t have wanted any of this.”

Merlin cups his face, hating the hollow look in Arthur’s eyes. “No, she wouldn’t. But she would be proud of you.”

Arthur leans into the touch. “I think she’d have liked you.”

“Me?” Merlin flushes.

Arthur smiles, small and wistful. “Yes, I think so. She was kind, as you are.”

Merlin doesn’t know what to say to that, so he settles for holding Arthur as tightly as he can.

-

It’s times like these that Merlin misses Aithusa so much it hurts. He never knows if it’s part of being a Dragon Lord, or whether it’s just his own fondness for the little white dragon. Being close to Aithusa brings a comfort that is instinctive, bone deep. When he is parted from her, there’s always a niggle at the back of his mind, that worries for her safety.

It’s only gotten worse, recently. Possible due to Mordred and then Agravaine’s arrival, with the stress that brought him. Possibly because he suspects his magic is growing. There are times he feels stronger. Now that he can use his powers in front of Arthur, his magic doesn’t seem to understand why he can’t use it in front of _everyone_.

He understands why he can’t bring Aithusa back to Camelot. He definitely wouldn’t now, with Agravaine skulking around. But he wishes he could. (Perhaps even more than lifting the ban on magic, even though that’s completely selfish and all he ever dreamed of. But Aithusa is - like him. She’s precious. Merlin has a connection to her he never thought possible.)

Merlin suffers through three more days of Agravaine setting his teeth on edge, before deciding he’ll sneak out to see Aithusa that night. He’s not going to survive the two faced pleasantries for much longer, not without a cuddle from a baby dragon to keep him going.

He checks the wards on Arthur’s chambers before he leaves, satisfied they’re holding strong. Leon is on patrol as well, so he feels it’s safe enough to slip out of Camelot for a few hours.

The moon is full tonight, hanging bright in the night sky. Merlin pulls his cloak tighter around him, making sure to keep his footsteps quiet as he sneaks across the courtyard. The patrols are out tonight, and annoyingly efficient, so Merlin keeps to the shadows. At least it shows they’re doing their jobs properly.

As he makes his way further into the woods, a shiver goes down his spine. Merlin ignores it, certain it’s just the wind and preoccupied by how desperate he is to see Aithusa. That, in hindsight, is his second mistake.

His first mistake was that he did everything to ensure Arthur was safe, to make sure that no one would attack him from inside the castle. It never occurred to Merlin that the person he should have been worried about was himself.

He doesn’t hear the footsteps that come up behind him, too distracted by trying to find the right path. He does feel the blow to his head, pain exploding behind his eyes, and then Merlin doesn’t feel anything at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you ever write a chapter and it just.. clicks. it just goes the way you wanted. that's me and this chapter. we just clicked. me and this chapter went for dinner and then watched five seasons of shera on netflix. (yeah im still on that.) anyway, my point is i just had so much writing this chapter, so i hope you enjoyed reading it !!
> 
> i've used kelpies in my stories before but for a quick recap: they're prominent in scottish mythology, where there are various legends of dark horses that can shift in different forms, hiding in lakes and trying to entice people for a ride. and then drown them or eat them. if you wanna google the kelpie from the spiderwick chronicles, i think that one is pretty cool. (and suitably creepy.)
> 
> I didn't make my kelpie too creepy in this, but they are certainly a lot creepier in legend. (I hope it did still come across as eerie though, cause that's what I'm always aiming for when I wrote my mythical creatures.) 
> 
> anyway things that i thought of that made me laugh during this chapter, which probably nobody else will think are funny:
> 
> arthur: Merlin, let me see what you have!  
merlin: A KELPIE  
arthur: NO
> 
> alternatively  
arthur: uh what do you have there  
merlin, holding the kelpie in one hand and a vial in another: a potion for gaius
> 
> are we going to use this fic to let arthur talk about his mother at every opportunity cause canon never did? yes, yes we are
> 
> anyway i am HYPE for next chapter! you can probably guess who's finally showing their face
> 
> comments are the best and i treasure every one!


	23. Chapter 23

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you all know what is coming

When Merlin finally comes round, absolutely everything hurts.

His head is pounding, the back of his skull throbbing painfully. His hair feels matted and sticky, which means it must have bled. A lot. Which is potentially going to be a bit of a problem later, but he has more pressing issues right now,

His wrists are aching. They must be held above his head somehow, because the rest of his arms feel numb. Merlin blinks blearily, trying to pull them down, but they won’t move.

“Ah, good, you’re awake,” a voice says, and then he’s rudely brought back to consciousness when someone slaps him across the face.

“Morgana,” Merlin rasps, because of course it fucking is. “You look terrible.”

It’s worth the second slap. Besides, it’s true. Morgana still looks terrifyingly beautiful, because she always does, but beneath the beauty the rot is starting to set in. The bitterness. Her dress is made of dark, torn fabric, her hair tangled and drawn back from her face. She looks nothing like she did in the days when she was Camelot’s ward, dressed in finery and glittering jewels.

“You always did have a mouth on you,” Morgana hisses, before her smirk turns cruel. “I just never realised that was Arthur’s type.”

Fear spikes through his stomach. His feet slide and he scrabbles for purchase, the action making the rope cut into his wrists painfully.

“I always wondered why you were so loyal to Arthur,” Morgana continues. “You were his servant, nothing more. Yet time and time again you’d risk your life for him.”

“I don’t expect you to understand loyalty.”

Morgana laughs. “Loyalty? Is that what they’re calling it these days? I have to say, I never saw it coming, but it all makes sense now. Of course you were loyal, when you had a space in the royal bed sheets.”

“It wasn’t like that, but like I said, I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” Merlin leans closer, narrowing his eyes. “Who are you loyal to, Morgana?”

That does strike a nerve, Morgana’s eyes burning in hatred. “You know, Merlin. I have to thank you. You’ve made my job infinitely easier.”

Merlin tries to look bored, even as blood drips down his chin from his split lip. “Is this the part where you tell me your evil plan?”

Morgana doesn’t take the bait. She doesn’t even look angry; she just keeps smiling, that awful, twisted smile, and that’s when Merlin really starts to feel scared.

Morgana walks abruptly over to a shelf and Merlin takes the opportunity to look around. They’re in some kind of shack, run down and dimly lit. He can just make out a fire burning in the heath, and long rows of shelves.

Morgana picks up a small wooden box. “I thought I’d have to kidnap one of the knights. Most likely Leon, he has always been closest to Arthur. Kidnapping a servant is far easier, even if we both know you have your own vicious streak.”

“Obviously I’m not the only one,” Merlin spits.

Morgana glares at him, slamming the box down. Merlin is pretty certain something inside hisses. “He’ll never make you consort, you know. You’re nothing but a servant to him.”

“Clearly I’m not, or people wouldn’t keep throwing the word favourite - ah!”

“Where’s Arthur now, then?” Morgana taunts. “I do hope he hurries up. The sooner he gets here, the sooner you can get rid of him for me.”

Merlin snorts. “I’d never hurt Arthur. And I certainly wouldn’t do it for you.”

“Oh, Merlin. You’re not going to have a choice.” Morgana grips his chin, squeezing until her nails cut into his jaw. “When I heard the special news, I knew you’d be perfect. There’s no one closer to the King. No one he’d expect less. You’ll be far more valuable than Leon could ever be.”

“Perhaps you didn’t hear me properly,” Merlin snarls, wrenching his chin away and feeling how the skin splits under Morgana’s claws. “I don’t care what you do to me, I’m not going to hurt him.”

“And perhaps you didn’t hear me. You’re not going to have a choice. Have you ever heard of a femora, Merlin?”

Merlin keeps his mouth stubbornly shut. Morgana shakes her head in amusement, before reaching for the box. “You’re about to.”

There’s something in that box, something so evil that it makes his teeth ache. His magic is thrumming, every hair on the back of his neck standing up.

Merlin understands now what it’s like to be paralysed with fear. He is frozen, frozen in place as his mind buzzes like a nest of bees. Terror makes the world seem syrupy slow around him.

He could use his magic to get out of this. He’s weak and hurt, but he’s got more than enough control over his magic to pull this shed down around them. But in the panic, in the shock, all he can think is that if he does that, then Morgana knows. And Merlin stops being the greatest asset, their greatest weapon, stops being the card they can play when everything seems lost.

The throbbing at the back of his head is getting worse. His vision swims, but he still kicks out when Morgana advances towards him. “Get away from me!”

He manages to catch her in the knee, blind luck more than anything. _Help_, he thinks desperately, blood filling his mouth from his cut lip. _I don’t want to - please_ -

Morgana straightens back up, grasping the latch. “I’m going to enjoy this - “

Several things happen at once then. Morgana grabs a fistful of his hair, yanking his head painfully to the side. Merlin licks the crimson from his teeth and closes his eyes, reaching for his magic. There’s an enormous clattering from outside, then something huge bursts through the door.

Merlin can barely blink, when something large and white barrels into the room. It heads straight for Morgana, slamming into her and knocking her flying. He gasps as her hand is ripped from his nape, rocking him backwards. It tilts him off balance and the strain on his cuffs is excruciating.

The large thing growls ominously. Merlin shakes his head to try and straighten his vision and gasps. “Aithusa?”

Aithusa snarls, her teeth long and pointed. She’s grown somewhat, but it must have been her weight that knocked Morgana so off balance. That and the complete surprise of having a dog sized dragon catapult itself at you.

Morgana is starting to stir, so he whispers a hurried spell, the chains clicking open. Which in hindsight, wasn’t the greatest idea, because he collapses straight to the floor. His knees give out immediately, colliding with the stone floor in a painful thump.

He groans and Aithusa stops growling instantly. She yelps worriedly, turning to him.

“I’m - I’m okay,” Merlin slurs. “Aithusa - “ Morgana shouts and Aithusa goes flying, her spell knocking the dragon clear against the room.

Merlin feels time stop. Fury engulfs him like a wildfire and a scream is torn from his throat. He lifts his hand and Morgana is thrown across the room, hitting a wooden beam with an ominous crack.

He barely registers it, staggering to his feet and scooping Aithusa into his arms. They stumble out of the hovel and into the blinding light outside.

Merlin doesn’t look back and he doesn’t stop. His feet carry him blindly, his only thought to get as far away as possible. Aithusa is a heavy weight in his arms, and he clutches her desperately to his chest.

There’s blood dripping from his wrists, startling against his pale skin. Colours cut across his vision. Crimson blood snaking over his arms; the glowing white of Aithusa’s scales; the brilliant, golden glow of his magic throbbing in his veins.

The forest seems to part for him. There are birds circling overhead, cawing as if to announce his arrival, to clear the path. His lungs are heaving and after what feels like hours, he finally, finally comes to a halt in a small clearing. There’s more woodland ahead of them.

He’s so exhausted that he’ll collapse if he goes any further. He falls ungainly to his knees, Aithusa held securely in his arms. Everything is too much; the rushing in his ears, the shaky exhale of his breath, the smell of blood, the pain, the pain, that starts in his wrists and spreads throughout him like a poison.

Aithusa nestling into him cuts through some of the haze. She is quiet, and Aithusa is never quiet. Her face is tucked into his arm, her tail wrapped firmly around his bicep.

He raises a shaky hand and runs a finger over her scales. The fury is still there, a beating drum of anger that crescendos in his chest at the thought of his kin being hurt.

The sound of voices has his head snapping up. He twists to look behind him, but there’s nothing there. Aithusa is alert too, eyes narrowed as she stares directly across the clearing to the woods ahead.

“What is it?” Merlin asks her. “Is it coming from over there?”

Aithusa snarls in response. The voices are louder now, as well as a rhythmic thumping. Horses hooves. More than one. Panic splinters through his chest; he’s running on exhaustion and adrenalin. He can’t last much longer, not with the injuries he sustained. He doesn’t dare look at his wrists, at the skin that is rubbed raw and stinging with excruciating pain.

“I won’t let them hurt you,” Merlin promises her. “I won’t let them get us, I won’t - “

The first figure stumbles out into the clearing.

“No!” Merlin shouts, and slams his hand down into the earth.

The ground between them and the intruders splits. It cracks into two like a sword cleaving through an invisible line, a yawning chasm that effectively separates Merlin and Aithusa from anyone on the other side.

The man scrabbles backwards, lest he fall into the gaping canyon. Merlin collapses onto his back, his fingers burning. Distantly, there is the sound of shouts and horses neighing, their riders pulling them to a halt before they are carried over.

Merlin blacks out for a few seconds.

Everything is hazy when consciousness reclaims him. Muted, like his head is underwater. The men are shouting on the other side of the ravine.

“Merlin! Merlin!”

“Arthur, you can’t - _fuck_, Percival, help me - “

“Let me go! Merlin!”

“You can’t fucking jump that gap - “

“How is he so strong - Arthur, stop!”

His eyes flutter shut. Something nudges at his wrist and there’s an anxious chirping noise.

“And what the fuck is that?”

“Is that a - “

“Alright, Leon, alright!” A ragged breath. “I’m not - I’m not going to jump over!”

“Can we talk about the - “

“Mordred, what is happening? Why isn’t he moving? Is it magic?”

“Why are you asking _Mordred_?”

Someone clears their throat. “It’s magic, but not someone else’s. It’s his. He’s exhausted from the spell he just performed. To use that much power - I’d be surprised if it hasn’t knocked him clean out. Especially if he’s already been injured.”

There’s a loud chirp in his ear, then the rub of a scales against his cheek. Merlin shudders, cracking an eye open. Big blue eyes stare down at him, and something stirs in his chest. “Aithusa?”

He shifts in the grass and gasps as pain tears through him, eyes stinging. Everything no longer feels muted, but instead turned up to technicolor, the pain so vivid he could vomit.

“Merlin! Did you see that? He moved!”

“Yes, because the bloody dragon - “

“Shut up, Gwaine! Merlin, can you hear me?”

That’s Arthur, Merlin notes in between his attempts to just black out again, because it’d be better than dealing with this hell, gods.

Aithusa paws at his chest to get his attention, crouched on top of him. He moves his head minutely in her direction and she chitters, opening her mouth. For a moment, Merlin thinks she’s going to burn him, but tiny blue flames escape her mouth instead. It washes over his body like a cool mist, and the pain dulls fractionally. A very small fraction, but enough that he can breath more easily without it feeling like a danger stabbing into his side.

Her legs are wobbly once she’s done and she curls up into a ball on Merlin’s chest. He has just enough strength to murmur, “Good girl, Aithusa.”

Mordred’s quiet voice carries across the divide. “Arthur, I - I could try to repair the gorge.”

“How?” Gwaine asks incredulously. “You don’t have magic, so unless you - hang on a minute!”

Merlin takes a shallow breath, before turning over onto his side. He wants to see Arthur. He needs to see Arthur. It’s tortuously slow, but he manages it. Aithusa moves with him easily, nestling once more into his chest.

He blinks blearily, blanching at the distance between them. Arthur’s eyes are fixed on his still form. His face is ashen. Merlin has never seen that expression on Arthur’s face before.

“Merlin,” he calls, sounding wretched. “It’s alright, we’re coming to help. It’s alright.”

Merlin is too tired to answer. Mordred looks just as terrible as Arthur does, deathly pale. He glances around once, before lifting his hand. His eyes flash gold, but nothing happens.

Arthur turns to him. “What is it?”

Mordred shakes his head. “The spell is too strong, I need him to let me reverse it. It’s powerful magic. I think he was desperate to protect himself.”

“And desperate to protect Aithusa,” Arthur whispers. “How can you undo it?”

Mordred bites his lip. “I have an idea.”

_Emrys_, Mordred says. It takes Merlin a second the voice is coming from inside his head. He hasn’t heard Mordred’s mental voice in years.

_Emrys_, Mordred repeats gently. His presence in Merlin’s mind is cool, gentle. A still lake on a winter morning. _I can repair the gorge, but you have to let me._

_I’m not stopping you._

_Maybe not intentionally. But your magic is still trying to protect you._

Something flares in his chest, the fear he felt when he’d heard the sound of others approaching. He’d thought it was Morgana. Or Agravaine.

_I know, but you’re safe now._ Slow ripples spread across the water._ Let go, Merlin. Let Arthur come help you._

The breath escapes Merlin’s lungs in a rush. He hadn’t realised until Mordred had pointed it out, but his magic is still on edge. Once he acknowledges it, it’s like a key turning in a lock.

“Thank you, Emrys,” Mordred breathes, out loud this time.

Mordred tries the spell again and this time it works. He doesn’t try to fix the entire crevice, just enough so that there’s a bridge to cross over, and as soon as he’s finished, Arthur is running across.

He crouches at Merlin’s side. “Merlin!”

“Arthur,” Merlin rasps.

He tries to sit up, but Arthur gently pushes at his shoulder. “No, don’t move. I don’t want you to damage yourself further. Tell me, where does it hurt?”

“Everywhere.”

Arthur flinches, hands hovering over Merlin’s body, like he wants to touch him, but there’s limited space where Merlin’s not bruised or bloodied. “Then definitely don’t move, sweetheart. Just - stay right there. It’ll all be fine.”

“Aithusa,” Merlin croaks.

“She’s here, love, she’s right beside you.”

“No, she was - she was hurt. You - you need to - “

Arthur understands immediately. He holds his arms out and Aithusa barrels into him, nuzzling him all over, his chest, his neck. “Let me check you over, little one.”

He runs a careful hand over Aithusa’s flank, Aithusa standing obediently still and making little chittering noises. Once he’s done, Aithusa scurries back to Merlin’s side, but not before butting Arthur’s thigh affectionately.

“I can’t see any injuries,” Arthur tells him gently. “And she’s clearly moving fine.”

A knot in Merlin’s chest loosens. There’s a gentle touch to his shoulder, and he cranes his neck to see Mordred crouched on his other side. He hadn’t even heard him approach. When Merlin focuses, he can see Percival, Leon and Gwaine, standing further back but all wearing identical expressions of concern.

“Merlin,” Mordred says quietly. “I can try to heal some of your injuries with magic.”

“He can’t heal himself?” Gwaine asks, voice tight.

“No. Not with the amount of magic he used to - “

“Rip a bloody great crack in the ground?”

Mordred inclines his head. “I won’t be able to heal it all. But I - I can try.”

“You’ll be fine,” Merlin manages. “You - you’ve got this. Certainly can’t make it any worse.”

Mordred smiles. “You’re bleeding on the floor, Merlin. I think I’m meant to be the one comforting you.”

“It’s - it’s fun to change things up,” Merlin says, cutting off with a groan.

Arthur’s eyes go wide. He runs a tentative hand over the top of Merlin’s head, avoiding the hair that is matted and bloodied at the back. “Mordred, do it now.”

Mordred’s eyes flit to Aithusa, who is staring at him intently. She’s still clinging to Merlin’s chest and he nudges her softly. “Go to Arthur.”

Aithusa chirps once, nuzzling his chin, before slinking over to Arthur, who's still knelt by Merlin’s side. She climbs up onto his shoulders, perching herself there so she can stare down at Merlin.

Mordred takes his wrists first. Merlin looks once then jerks his head away at how bloodied they are. He expects the spell to hurt but it doesn’t, Mordred’s magic washing over him like cool water. It’s an instant relief and he exhales, eyelids fluttering. When he’s done, Merlin’s wrists are shiny pink and scabbed over, but the wounds are no longer open.

Arthur strokes Aithusa’s snout with an absent minded hand. “Merlin? Is that better? Did it help?”

“My wrists no longer feel like ground beef,” Merlin mumbles. “So that’s - that’s a definite improvement.”

“Gaius will have salves. Once you’re - once we’ve - Mordred will heal you, then we’ll return to Camelot right away. I promise, Merlin.”

Now that his wrists are healed, Arthur takes his hand without hesitation. Both of them are holding on far too tightly, but neither complain.

“I need to see the injuries on your head.” Mordred’s hands are steady, but Merlin can see how pale he is. “Can you stay on your side? I think that’d be easiest.”

Merlin nods and Mordred gets up and walks behind him. Mordred carefully brushes the hair at his nape away and Merlin instantly flinches.

“Did I hurt you?” Mordred asks immediately, tone panicked.

Merlin grips Arthur’s hand. “No, no, sorry, I - I just jumped.”

“I’m here,” Arthur says soothingly, tracing his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles. “Just focus on me.”

Merlin nods shakily. After a moment, Mordred crouches down once more. He’s clearly hesitant, his touch feather light. After the initial ripple of magic, Merlin relaxes enough to focus on Arthur’s face,

Arthur is crying silently. His cheeks are shining with the tracks of his tears, cutting a path over his cheeks.

“Arthur - “

“Your face is covered in blood.”

“It’s - “

“I couldn’t find you. No one could. I didn’t see you that morning, so we went to Gaius and he hadn’t - “ Arthur breaks off, a catch in his voice. “I was so afraid, I was so - “

Merlin’s own eyes are burning. “Arthur, I’m here, I’m fine - “

Arthur presses his palms into his face. “You’re the furthest thing from fine, Merlin. Your head, your wrists. You were lying there so still and I couldn’t get to you.”

“It’s done,” Mordred announces quietly. “I’ve healed as much as I can, but head wounds are dangerous to tamper with. It’s harder to see the extent of the damage.”

Merlin sits up immediately and pulls Arthur into a hug. The truth is he’s still aching, still wrecked with exhaustion, but he’s well enough to grip Arthur tight and not collapse.

Arthur buries his face in the crook of Merlin’s neck and wraps his arms around him. He holds him tightly, but with an air of deliberate caution that makes Merlin melt. He tugs Merlin closer, until Merlin is all but in his lap.

Merlin doesn’t pull back until he can feel Arthur’s stopped trembling. When they finally part, Merlin cups Arthur’s face. He swipes at the tear track. “Let’s go home.”

Arthur turns his cheek into Merlin’s touch. “Let’s go home.”

He pulls Merlin to his feet, keeping one arm wrapped securely around his waist. Aithusa is still perched on Arthur’s shoulder, but she jumps down, wrapping herself around Merlin’s ankles.

“Merlin,” Gwaine gasps. He stumbles forward, clearly having waited until Merlin had been healed. “We’ve all been out of our minds with worry. Who did this to you?”

Merlin swallows. “I’ll tell you. But not here. We need to go. Now.”

Gwaine’s eyes widen, but he nods. Leon steps forward too, eyes darting over Merlin and then to Aithusa. “Is that - is that a dragon?”

Arthur sighs. “Yes.”

“Right.” Leon pinches his nose. “And is the dragon coming back to Camelot, too?”

“I’m not leaving her here,” Merlin snaps, chest tightening. “Don’t even think of - “

Arthur curls a hand over his hip. “Merlin, no one is suggesting we leave Aithusa here.” His glances around, tone steely. “Are they?”

Unsurprisingly, no one protests at that, not when Merlin looks ready to spit fire and Arthur’s tone is as sharp as his sword. Aithusa lashes her tail smugly.

Gwaine doesn’t look enthusiastic. “Is it a wyvern?”

Merlin glares at him. “She’s not an it. And she’s not a wyvern, either. Her name is Aithusa.”

Gwaine holds his hands up appeasingly. “Sorry, Merlin. I just - I’ve only ever met one other beast - er, one other creature that looked like her. I’m sorry. I can - I can see she means a lot to you.”

Merlin blinks. His throat bobs, and for a stupid reason, he feels ready to cry again. Gwaine softens, dropping a light touch to his shoulder. “Let’s get you back to Camelot, yeah?”

Merlin rubs at his eyes. He drops to his feet, gathering Aithusa up into his arms. She is more than content to be held, rumbling happily as she settles. As soon as he’s standing again, Arthur’s arm goes back to its position around Merlin’s waist.

Mordred clears his throat. He’s stood off to the side, drawn and pale. There are smudges of red on his fingers. “If we’re giving confessions, then I should probably tell you I have magic.”

It startles a laugh out of everyone. Merlin can see the way Mordred’s shoulders relax, the way he uncoils an inch. Gwaine slaps his back, eyes brightening. “Yeah, no shit.”

Mordred flushes. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I only - “

“Mordred, there is no need for apologies,” Percival interrupts kindly. “And so you know, there’s nothing to fear from us. Any of us.”

Mordred ducks his head, voice thick. “Thank you.”

They gather the horses and prepare to move out. Arthur hoists Merlin into his saddle, then climbs up behind him. Apollo hadn’t seemed bothered by Aithusa, huffing at her once but pretty much ignoring her apart from that.

Arthur wraps his arms around Merlin, gripping the reins. Merlin leans gratefully back against Arthur’s chest. Leon and Gwaine are talking intensely with Mordred, but Percival is watching Aithusa curiously.

“What was her name?” he asks after a while.

Aithusa stops chewing the horse’s reins and stares at Percival.

“Her name is Aithusa.”

Percival hums. “Can she understand us?”

Merlin blinks at him. “Why - why do you ask that?”

Percival shrugs. “You talk as though she can.”

“She can understand a little. She’ll - she’ll understand more when she grows older.”

“And bigger?” Percival checks. “The villagers still talk about the dragon attack, they claim the dragon was half the size of the castle itself.”

Guilt twists his stomach and Percival’s face falls. “I wasn’t trying to upset you. I only meant I’d heard the tales from the townsfolk and that dragon was - a lot bigger.”

“She’ll grow,” Arthur interrupts briskly. “Come on. I’m not staying in this godforsaken place a minute more.”

It’s nightfall by the time they return back to Camelot. They sneak in through one of the lesser known entrances, Aithusa hidden underneath Arthur’s cloak. She must sense the tension, because she doesn’t make a noise, still and silent.

Arthur dismounts, before helping Merlin climb down after him. The moonlight cuts across his face, his eyes silver. “Meet me in my chambers in fifteen minutes. Gwaine and Mordred, go straight to Gaius. Tell him we’ve returned. Percival, Leon, I need you to speak with the guards on patrol. Alert them to our return. Check that there haven’t been any disturbances tonight.”

They all nod gravely and turn to leave, but Merlin grabs Mordred’s arm. “No, Mordred, wait.”

Mordred halts. “What is it?”

“I need you to ward the entrances to the castle.” Merlin flushes. “I can’t do it myself. Do you - do you think you can do that?”

Mordred clasps Merlin’s wrist back. “Of course, Emrys.”

He hurries after the others. Merlin watches him go, then turns to Arthur. His profile is lined in silver, his jaw clenched so tightly he could crack the bone. “Come on.”

He doesn’t say anything as he strides through the corridors of the castle, keeping close to Merlin’s side. One hand remains on the hilt of his sword until they’re safely within his chambers.

“Arthur,” Merlin tries, letting Arthur lead him to a chair. “Arthur, I’m fine.”

“Lift your arms.”

Merlin does so obediently, allowing Arthur to take off his blood spattered tunic. “_Arthur_.”

“I’m getting a washcloth,” Arthur says, turning on his heel.

Aithusa jumps off Merlin’s lap, sniffing the air. She looks at Merlin, before wandering off to explore the room, never straying out of Merlin’s sight.

Arthur comes back with a cloth and a cold bowl of water. He drags another chair close, taking Merlin’s wrist in a cautious grip. “We need to clean your wounds. Even with Mordred’s magic, the scars could become infected.”

“Yes, I know.” Merlin pauses. “I’m fine, Arthur. I am.”

Arthur dunks the cloth into the bowl so forcefully that water spills over the edge. “You’re not.”

Merlin swallows. “I - “

“You’re _not_, Merlin. Don’t try and tell me you are. You’re not.”

Arthur cleans his wounds meticulously. His movements are practised, clinical. He doesn’t look Merlin in the eyes once.

Merlin has never seen Arthur this way. Not even when Morgana went missing, or when his father died. He has no idea what to do, so he sits pliant under his ministrations and lets Arthur fix him.

When he finishes with Merlin’s wrists, he murmurs, “Tilt your chin backwards.”

Merlin does so. Arthur’s eyes are the colour of flint. He says very calmly, “I’m going to kill whoever did this to you.”

He runs the cloth over the scratch marks, then wipes carefully at the skin below Merlin’s split lip. The cold water feels heavenly on his dirty, bruised face, washing away the sweat and blood, and he closes his eyes.

“All done,” Arthur says quietly.

He puts the cloth and bowl away neatly, then turns to gaze at Merlin. Merlin reaches out hesitantly and brushes the hair back from Arthur’s forehead. “Thank you.”

“How is your magic?”

“Still there,” Merlin says in a small voice. “I’ve never done that before.”

“Cleaved the ground in two?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur leans closer and threads his fingers through the hair at his nape. “You can rest once the others have debriefed.”

Merlin yawns. “You need to rest too.”

Arthur kneads the muscles at the bottom of his neck. “I will. When I know you’re - when I know the castle is safe.”

Merlin doesn’t protest. Arthur needs this. And Merlin, for his part, needs to be comforted.

The door clicks open. Aithusa scrabbles over to them, but it’s only Gaius. “Merlin! I’ve been so worried!”

Aithusa crouches by Merlin’s chair, back arched and she hisses in Gaius’ direction. Merlin strokes over her scales in an attempt to calm her. “It’s alright, Aithusa. That’s Gaius.”

Aithusa doesn’t seem overly appeased. Gaius clears his throat. “You’ve cleaned his wrists?”

“And my face,” Merlin mumbles. “But, my head - my head hurts, Gaius.”

Gaius squeezes his shoulder, standing behind the chair to look. “What happened?”

“It’s a long story.”

“Then don’t tell me now,” Gaius says sternly. “You need rest. I can dress the wound properly, but for now can you make sure he sleeps on his back? Or on his side?”

“I can,” Arthur says immediately. “Merlin, let me get you something to sleep in.”

Merlin is pulling the loose shirt over his head when the knights file in. This agitates Aithusa completely, who launches herself at them. Arthur grabs her by the waist in time, holding her aloft as she claws at the air.

“Aithusa,” Merlin groans, wiggling into his sleeves. “Aithusa, leave them alone.”

Aithusa snarls once before going limp, suspended in the air. She turns baleful eyes on Arthur, who just raises an eyebrow and keeps a tight grip.

“The guards haven’t seen anything suspicious,” Leon advises. “We’ve doubled the guard anyway. I’ll take the first shift.”

“And me,” Gwaine adds fiercely.

“Gwaine, you need some sleep,” Percival chides softly. His eyes are troubled. Merlin realises for the first time how dark the circles under Gwaine’s eyes are.

Gwaine shakes his head. “No.”

Percival’s voice is hushed. “You’ll be no use to anyway dead on your feet. I can take the second shift after Leon.”

They share an intense look, and Merlin feels like he’s intruding, so he turns away.

Mordred looks equally awkward, so Merlin beckons him over with a jerk of his chin. “Did you set the wards?”

“I did,” Mordred confirms. “They’re only temporary though. I don’t have much experience with warding spells. But they’ll hold for tonight.”

“Thank you, Mordred.” Merlin clears his throat. “And thank you for, you know. Everything else you did.”

“We were all so worried when you were discovered missing,” Mordred murmurs quietly. “The King was beside himself. I’m glad you’re safely back in Camelot.”

“So am I,” Merlin says ruefully.

Mordred smiles. “I’d really like to ask where you found the dragon, but I’m not sure now is the time.”

Merlin shakes his head in amusement. “I’ll fill you in tomorrow.”

“Right!” Gaius says loudly. “That’s enough bickering. Merlin, you need rest. You too, Gwaine. You’ve been running yourself ragged ever since Merlin went missing.”

Gwaine scowls at him, but doesn’t protest. Leon clasps a hand to Gwaine’s shoulder. “Come on.”

Arthur stands. “We’ll meet in the council chambers at midday. Leon, I want you to go straight to bed once Percival has relieved you of your shift. Gwaine isn’t the only one who’s been run ragged.”

Merlin fiddles with the thread of Arthur’s night shirt. It’s too big on him, because Merlin is lean and wiry where Arthur is muscular and strong. Mordred notices his fidgeting and nudges him gently. “Merlin?”

“Thank you,” Merlin says hoarsely. “All of you. Thank you.”

“We don’t do much,” Percival points out, sounding guilty. “You escaped on your own.”

Merlin thinks of the welts on his wrists. “Barely.”

Leon shakes his head. “We would never have left you behind, Merlin.”

“Like I’d have let them,” Arthur adds, and Leon snorts. “Come on, time for bed. All of you.”

Gaius checks him over once more before he goes. He runs a comforting hand over Merlin’s hair and Merlin leans into it, feeling small. Aithusa tolerates this, barely, and Gaius smiles down at her before he leaves.

Gwaine lingers behind, staring at Merlin as it to make sure he won’t disappear, before Percival gently tugs him from the room, followed by Mordred and Leon.  
Arthur pulls Merlin to his feet, leading him over to the bed. As he passes the candles, there’s a small jolt in his stomach, and they flicker out.

“Still there, then,” Arthur observes, and Merlin hums in response.

Merlin collapses onto the sheets, suddenly exhausted. Arthur tucks the covers around him, making sure he’s positioned on his side like Gaius said. Aithusa curls up at the end of the bed, tucking herself into a tiny ball and fixing her blue eyes on the pair of them.

Arthur lays down beside him, turning so they’re facing each other. This close, Merlin can see the lilac shadows that betray his own exhaustion.

Merlin picks at the edge of the blanket. “How long was I gone for?”

Arthur gazes at him. “A day and a half.”

“Oh. Did you - did you sleep at all in that time?”

“Would you have?”

Merlin swallows. “Probably not.”

“Then there’s your answer.”

“I’m here now,” Merlin says quickly, not sure who he’s trying to remind of that fact. “I escaped. And you found me.”

“You need to sleep,” is all Arthur replies.

“And I will,” Merlin presses. “But not before I - “

He stills, the thought hitting him all at once.

Arthur sits up immediately, alarm flashing across his face. “What is it? Is it your head?”

_But not before I tell you I love you_, Merlin thinks, followed by: _fuck. I’m in love with Arthur_.

“Shall I call Gaius? I can - “

“Not before I get another blanket,” Merlin blurts. “My feet are cold.”

Arthur’s face clears. “Why didn’t you say so? I’ll get one.”

Aithusa watches Arthur climb out of bed and walk over to the cupboard, then lifts her head and blinks at Merlin.

“Shut up,” Merlin hisses at her.

Aithusa snorts and thumps back down onto the bed.

“Here.” Arthur carefully arranges the second blanket over him, before sliding underneath the covers once more. “Is that warm enough?”

“Yes, perfect,” Merlin stutters.

Aithusa snickers. Arthur frowns. “Was that the dragon?”

Merlin closes his eyes. “No.”

“It sounded a lot like - “

Merlin yawns and Arthur quiets down immediately. Merlin feels a bit bad about that, but any guilt he feels is eclipsed by the absolute breakdown he is having internally.

“Goodnight, my love,” Arthur whispers, which does nothing to slow the frantic beating of Merlin’s heart. “We can speak more in the morning.”

Merlin sighs, shuffling closer. “Tomorrow I’ll tell you everything.”

Arthur’s fingers curl over his hip. “Don’t think about that now.”

“I’ll try not to.”

Arthur makes a small noise at the back of his throat. “I know it’s easier said than done.”

Merlin opens his eyes. Arthur is watching him still, and he links their fingers together under the sheets. “Everything is easier when you’re here.”

“Good thing I’m not going anywhere then.”

“Neither am I,” Merlin whispers firmly. Arthur flinches and Merlin squeezes his hand tighter. “I promise, Arthur. Look, we can shake on it.”

Arthur laughs. It’s the first time since - since all this happened, and pride blooms in Merlin’s chest at the sound. “Okay then. We’ll shake.”

They shake hands very seriously, until Merlin can’t hide the grin from spreading across his face. It’s painful with his split lip, so he stops rather quickly, but it’s something.

He laces their fingers together again afterwards. “There. All agreed.”

“All agreed,” Arthur repeats softly.

“Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin mumbles.

He curls into Arthur’s chest, comforted by the strong arms around him. Aithusa is sleeping peacefully nearby and Merlin shuts his eyes and lets sleep claim him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wrote this and got sad thinking about all the cool scenes we could have had of mordred and merlin using magic together. 
> 
> mordred is - and i cannot stress this enough - baby. i watched 5x09 again and after he knocks out morgana, he gives a little breath like he's steadying himself. god i love him
> 
> lots of people are asking for more bad ass merlin so hopefully him splitting the ground in two qualifies loool. i promise there is lot more bad ass merlin to come. *chants let him be feral let him be feral*
> 
> so many people commented on the last chapter and I just wanted to say thank you SO MUCH. It makes me so so so happy to read the comments and hear what people think!
> 
> have been lazily thinking about my next merthur fic ... canon era is so GOOD but I want to maybe try something set in modern times. i have a couple ideas so we'll see
> 
> Authors notes are always fun cause they’re kind of like confessionals... like bless the people who read these but also I don’t mind if people skip cause this diary entry is between me and ao3 😂 My anxiety has dug its claws in again which is just. Not fun. And exhausting because no one wants to relive every innocuous conversation they’ve ever had and psychoanalyse it. Ugh. Here’s hoping it’ll pass. Breathing exercises never work for me either so I hope one day something else will 
> 
> anyway i reread red white and royal blue this weekend and i still love it. I’m rereading the foxhole court next


	24. Chapter 24

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ..... this had a lot more sex in it than i first planned

Neither of them have a restful night.

Arthur wakes first, jolting out of his sleep in the early hours and gasping Merlin’s name. He settles back down after, but it’s not long before Merlin has a nightmare of his own. All the thrashing about only aggravates the cut on the back of his head, staining the pillows with blood. After that, they both lie awake for an hour more, before giving it up as a bad job.

“We’re going to look like shit,” Merlin mutters, propping himself up against the headboard.

Arthur grunts, tipping his head back against the wall. “Speak for yourself.”

“You also look terrible,” Merlin points out helpfully. “We’ve hardly slept, it's almost dawn!”

He’s sat cross legged with his back to the headboard, and he pats the blankets that cover his lap. “Aithusa, come here.”

Aithusa pads over to his lap, curling up contentedly. He scratches her behind the ear and she chirps happily. It’s that strange hour of the morning, where the world feels still and quiet, not even the birds outside yet awake. The little dragon is a warm weight on top of his legs, and Merlin exhales quietly.

Arthur closes his eyes. “It was Morgana, wasn’t it?”

Merlin sighs. “Yes. And she knows.”

“Knows what?”

“About my magic,” Merlin elaborates, and Arthur’s eyes snap open. “I knocked her out with a spell. And even if I hadn’t, it would have been pretty suspicious that a random dragon showed up to rescue me.”

Arthur pats Aithusa’s head. “Good girl.”

Merlin swallows. “I couldn’t escape without using my magic. I’m sorry.”

Arthur frowns. “What do you have to be sorry for? You were kidnapped by Morgana.”

“And now she knows about my magic, we can’t ambush her with it. It was - helpful, keeping it a secret. We had a tactical advantage, but now it’s useless.”

Arthur stares at him. “Merlin, in what _world_ are you _useless_?”

“I only meant - “

“Did you forget it was only yesterday that you split the ground in two?”

“Well, yes, but,” Merlin stutters, and Arthur laughs.

He leans in closer, brushing a kiss against Merlin’s cheek. “Yes, it was a good ace up our sleeve. But you escaping with your life is far more important. Besides, it works in our favour, too.”

“How?”

Arthur smiles sharply. “Because now you don’t have to hold back.”

“I suppose not.” Merlin ducks his head to drop a kiss to Aithusa’s scales. “How are you feeling this morning?”

Arthur shuffles. “I think I’m meant to be asking you that.”

“We can take it in turns,” Merlin decides. “You first.”

“Fine. How are you feeling this morning, Merlin?”

“Terrible,” Merlin says promptly. “My wrists are aching. So is my head. And I had a nightmare that Morgana still had me held captive.”

“Merlin,” Arthur says softly. He pulls Merlin into his side, wrapping an arm around his waist. “It’s alright, you’re back in Camelot. You’re safe.”

Merlin rests his head against Arthur’s shoulder. “I know. It’s your turn now.”

Arthur takes some time to answer. “I’m scared I’ll wake up and you’ll be gone.”

Merlin inhales sharply. “Arthur, I’m here. I promise I’m not going anywhere.”

“I was so frightened,” Arthur whispers. “I assumed you were just with Gaius, running errands or tending to patients. But Gaius couldn’t find you either and that’s when we knew something was wrong.”

He lets out a shaky breath. “Merlin, you mean everything to me. I can’t bear the idea of anything happening to you.”

Merlin turns his head to press a kiss to Arthur’s bare shoulder. He doesn’t know what to say to that, so they sit in silence, holding each other tightly. He can’t promise Arthur it’ll never happen again, or that they’re safe, because they’re not. Either of them. And they won’t be until Morgana is gone, because Morgana will never stop until any trace of Camelot is wiped from the earth.

Merlin eventually manages to doze off slightly, curled into Arthur’s chest with Aithusa squirming into the gap between them. He feels marginally better when he wakes, but his face still stings and he groans as he rolls over.

The bed creaks and Merlin blinks sleepily, in time to see Arthur padding across the room and towards his wardrobe. Merlin yawns and rolls over onto his back. He can hear the sounds of the citadel stirring outside the window, the rumble of voices and carts along the cobblestones. It’s comforting, further proof that he’s really here and not back with Morgana.

He stumbles out of bed and to the basin. He strips off his shirt as he goes, leaving it on the floor and leaving him clad in only loose sleeping pants. The cold water makes him sigh in relief, and his magic hums in response; still there, still alive.

Once he’s washed his face, he straightens up from where he’s bent over the bowl. Strong arms slip around his waist, and he’s pulled back into a warm chest. Merlin melts into it, bringing his hands up to grip Arthur’s wrists from where they’re wrapped around his stomach.

“You’re far too skinny,” Arthur grumbles into his ear. “I can feel your ribs.”

He mouths at Merlin’s neck, a hot, wet drag of his mouth over the sensitive skin there, and Merlin arches into it. Instinctively, he tilts his head to the side to give Arthur better access, and is rewarded by Arthur gently scraping his teeth along the curve of his jaw and making him shiver.

“You’re, uh. Meant to - meant to be able to feel someone’s ribs.”

“Not all of them,” Arthur murmurs. His palm burns against the bare skin of Merlin’s chest, and he runs a slow finger over the ladder of his rib bones. “Shall we count?”

“_Can_ you count?” Merlin retorts, because he’s feeling hot and reckless and aroused beyond belief.

He can feel Arthur’s grin against his pulse and laughs when a rough hand spins him round, dragging him back towards the bed. He collapses back against the mattress, Arthur towering over him, before he freezes. “Shit - wait.”

Arthur draws back immediately. “What is it - did I hurt you?”

Merlin covers his mouth with one hand, trying to hide his smile. “No, it’s just - that.”

“What?” Arthur asks worriedly, then his face clears when he sees what Merlin is pointing at. “Ah That.”

Aithusa stares at them from her perch on the end of the bed frame. She must have jumped up there when he and Arthur (literally) fell into bed together. Merlin swallows. “I’m not - we’re not doing this in front of her.”

“Of course we’re not,” Arthur hisses. “What do you take me for?”

Merlin clears his throat. “Aithusa, er - can you - “

Aithusa grumbles unhappily and jumps down from the bed. She pads over to the antechamber and nudges the door open with her head. Her tail lashes out with enough force to slam the door shut after her.

“I’ll make it up to her later,” Merlin comments, unbothered. “Don’t they say boundaries are important for children - “

Arthur crawls back on top of him and kisses him soundly. The kiss is rough, possessive, and Merlin’s mouth is bruised and swollen within minutes. Heat flares in his stomach and he opens his mouth under Arthur’s, needy and submissive. The weight of Arthur’s strong, muscled body pushing him into the mattress is thrilling, and Merlin wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist in retaliation.

The action brings their hips flush with each other, and they both groan at the sensation. Merlin rocks his hips forward, more to see what Arthur will do, and feels a jolt of satisfaction when Arthur whines. “Merlin - “

Merlin exhales heavily, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck. “Arthur, you’re - I - “

Arthur takes a deep breath, bodies still flush together. “Merlin, should we - should we be doing this?”

Merlin smacks his shoulder. “You were the one who started it!”

Arthur laughs, burying his face in Merlin’s neck. Merlin curls his hand around Arthur’s head and pulls him closer, laughing too.

Some of the tension seems to drain from Arthur’s shoulders. He props himself up on Merlin’s chest, smiling down at him. “I only meant - you’ve just been kidnapped. If you want to wait - if you need time to - “

“Arthur, I want to do this.” Merlin swallows. “I want - you. It’s not as though I’ve forgotten what happened yesterday, but that’s not what I’m thinking of right now.”

Arthur ducks down and presses a kiss to his hair. “What - what are you thinking of right now?”

“How - how much I want to touch you. And feel you. I - I think about it an embarrassing amount, in all honesty,” Merlin blurts. “And perhaps - perhaps I feel like that more, because I spent a day and a half in the woods with your psychotic sister, but I feel like that most of the time regardless.”

Arthur’s lips twitch and Merlin glares at him. “If you so much as smirk right now, Arthur Pendragon, you’re never touching me again.”

“I’m not, I promise!”

“Hm,” Merlin says suspiciously. “Anyway, I’m not - I’m not doing this to get over what happened to me. Are - are you?”

Arthur shakes his head. “No. No. I can’t - I can’t pretend that I haven’t been desperate to - to touch you since we found you. But that’s - that’s different to wanting to touch you like this.”

Merlin drops his head back against the pillows, arching his neck and smirking at the way Arthur’s eyes follow the line of his throat. “And why do you want to touch me like this?”

Arthur wets his lips. “Because you walking around half naked in my chambers is bloody distracting.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Well, now you know how I feel, you ass. All you do is walk around your rooms with no shirt on. It’s like you’re allergic to - “

“Right,” Arthur says decisively. “That’s enough out of you.”

Merlin keeps talking just to annoy him, and grins against his mouth when Arthur shuts him up with a kiss. This one is slower, deeper, and Merlin is panting by the time Arthur drags his lips away.

There’s a furrow between his eyebrows, so Merlin asks, “What is it?”

“I don’t want to hurt your wrists,” Arthur murmurs. He runs a thumb over the pink skin, shiny from where it’s been partially healed.

An idea flashes through Merlin’s mind. Slowly, he lifts his hands until they’re gripping the headboard. It confirms how good his idea was when Arthur’s eyes turn dark and hungry, and his hand grips Merlin’s hip hard enough to bruise.

“Do you think you can keep them there?” Arthur asks, the rasp in his voice making Merlin’s hard cock press against his breeches.

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “Do you think you can make me if I don’t?”

“Fuck,” Arthur breathes, and rips off his trousers.

Merlin has seen Arthur naked before, not just in a sexual encounter kind of way, but he’s not sure he’s ever going to get over it. He digs his nails into the wooden headboard as Arthur cups Merlin’s back with one hand, and pulls Merlin’s own breeches down with the other, so they’re both naked.

Arthur goes to kneel between his legs, and that sight is enough for Merlin’s hand to abruptly slip off the headboard.

Arthur looks up at him from under his lashes, his mouth red and wet. “I’m not going to continue until you put your hands back.”

“You haven’t even done anything yet,” Merlin complains, but grudgingly puts his hands back in position.

Arthur kisses up the insides of his leg, mapping the skin there with his mouth and travelling steadily higher. Merlin is squirming by the time Arthur reaches the junction of his thighs, so turned on that his breathing is coming out in little pants and his heart is pounding.

Arthur pauses for a moment, just long enough to tease, before taking Merlin into his mouth. He cries out as Arthur licks around the head to start with, then takes him deeper. “_Arthur_, that feels - so - “

He can’t help bucking his hips as Arthur swallows him down, one hand reaching up to stroke the parts his mouth doesn’t reach. Merlin’s stomach bottoms out and his hand falls to Arthur’s shoulder, gripping tightly. “_Ah_ \- Arthur - you - “

Arthur pulls off immediately with a wet sound that goes straight to Merlin’s cock, smirking up at him with slick lips. “Now, Merlin. What did we say?”

“I absolutely hate you,” Merlin hisses, but obediently slams his palm back over the wood. “Arthur, please - come on - “

Arthur grins at him, before bobbing back down, mouth spread obscenely over Merlin’s cock. He hollows his cheeks as he moves his head, wrenching small whines of pleasure from the back of Merlin’s throat. The heat in his stomach is coiling tighter and tighter, but just when he’s almost there, Arthur pulls off for a second time.

“Arthur!” Merlin whines, eyes snapping open. “Arthur, _please_ \- “

“I know, sweetheart, just - just spread your legs for me, for a moment.”

His brain is so dizzy that it takes a second to process what Arthur just said, but once he does, his legs fall open instinctively.

“Good boy,” Arthur murmurs, his voice absolutely wrecked. “God, Merlin, you’re so - “

He digs the nails of one hand into Merlin’s spread thigh, swallowing him down to the root. Merlin groans, eyes squeezed shut as he thrusts into Arthur’s mouth. He’s so overwhelmed by everything, that he doesn’t register where Arthur’s other hand is going, until the pad of Arthur’s thumb presses against his hole, and Merlin falls apart.

Merlin keens, hurtling over the edge as he squeezes his eyes shut with pleasure. Arthur doesn’t pull off, swallowing as Merlin trembles all over. He suckles gently as Merlin shudders with the after shock, until it’s too much, and then he pulls away, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

“Arthur,” Merlin pants. “Arthur. That.”

He collapses, boneless, into the sheets. Arthur sits up, running a knuckle gently over Merlin’s thigh. “You’re so beautiful, Merlin. You - watching you - “

Merlin shakes his head slowly, throat dry. “You - you haven’t - “

“I wanted you - “

“I want to watch,” Merlin says hoarsely, and Arthur swears, before wrapping a hand around himself.

He jerks his cock roughly, knelt up between Merlin’s legs. Merlin can still hear his heartbeat in his ears, as he stares at the pink flush spreading down Arthur’s chest, at the bitten off noises Arthur makes as he moves his hand faster.

Heat skitters down his spine. He can tell Arthur is close, and the thought of Arthur _marking_ him, _claiming_ him, burns so hot and so sudden, that he blurts, “You can - on me - you - “

“Merlin,” Arthur gasps, eyes rolling back. “Merlin, I - “

His hand stutters, before he comes, spilling over and onto Merlin’s stomach. Arthur groans, his entire body juddering, and then collapses beside Merlin. He tilts his head back, breath escaping in quick, sharp pants.

They both lay there, chests heaving. Merlin stares blankly at the ceiling and thinks distantly he’s not even sure he just survived how hot that was.

After a few minutes, Arthur clears his throat. “That was. I. Good?”

Merlin can’t even judge him, because he’s also forgotten basic vocabulary. “Definitely. Definitely good.”

Arthur shuffles and turns on his side. He grips Merlin’s chin gently and Merlin leans into the soft kiss. It should probably be disgusting, but somehow it isn’t, not when Merlin is feeling so lax and warm and satisfied.

Merlin keeps his head tilted towards Arthur and carefully pushes Arthur’s hair away from his forehead. “We should have thank-god-you’re-alive-sex more often.”

Arthur laughs softly. “I thought we agreed it wasn’t about that.”

Merlin grins, stretching languidly. “And it wasn’t. Mostly.”

“Maybe just a little bit about that,” Arthur admits, and Merlin laughs, too.

All Arthur’s angles are softer like this; his cheeks a delicate pink, his hair damp with sweat and curling at the ends. He catches Merlin’s hand where it’s playing with his hair, and traps it against his chest. Merlin can’t bring himself to mind too much.

He settles more comfortably and turns so he’s facing Arthur properly. “Whatever it was, I - I liked it.”

The courage it took to say that is all worth it when Arthur’s eyes soften. “Good. So did I.”

Merlin draws closer. “And do you know what I was thinking?”

Arthur doesn’t try to hide the way his eyes flicker to Merlin’s mouth. “What were you thinking?”

Merlin grins. “Next time you could use something tighter to keep my hands in place.”

“You’re going to be the death of me,” Arthur groans, and rolls on top of him again.

-

They stay in bed for a while, exchanging secrets and lazy kisses. Eventually, Arthur gets up from the bed and reminds him they need to get dressed for their midday meeting. Merlin is lounging on his pillows and feeling smug, so he tells Arthur he’ll have to dress himself.

Arthur just rolls his eyes. And then, because he’s incapable of not showing off, he dresses himself and brings over a pile of clothes which he places down in front of Merlin. “Here.”

Merlin blinks one eye open. “I’m going to tell George you’re after his job.”

Arthur shrugs. “He’d probably find that an honour.” He snags Merlin’s ankle and tugs him to the edge of the bed, forcing him to sit up with his legs dangling over the side. “Come on. Do you want Gwaine to walk in on you naked?”

“He probably wouldn’t mind,” Merlin says truthfully.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “I would.”

Merlin smirks. “I know. That’s why I said it.”

Arthur picks up the clothes and shoves them into Merlin’s chest. “Get dressed, pest.”

Merlin grins and does as he’s told, interested to see what Arthur has picked out for him. There are supple black breaches, that Merlin knows will curve to his legs. Arthur has chosen a light blue tunic, one that has golden cuffs and golden stitching down the middle. There’s a black belt to go around his waist, and Merlin smiles when he sees the buckle is a silver dragon.

It takes a little while for Merlin to figure out why Arthur chose these clothes, why he chose something much finer than his everyday outfits. It’s only when he sees Arthur adjusting his own cuffs that he realises; this is armour, as much as chainmail and a breastplate is. He’s not sure for whose benefit it is, but it inexplicably makes Merlin feel better.

“I’m dressed,” he announces softly. Arthur pads over to him, adjusting Merlin’s collar. “What do you think?”

Arthur tilts his head to one side, smile a little crooked. “You look very handsome.”

Merlin flushes. “Oh. Uh. Thank you?”

“Try not to phrase it like a question,” Arthur advises, and Merlin glares at him and waves a hand.

He’d left the sigil on the bedside table and it floats over to him now. The anxious part of him had deliberately chosen a small use of his magic, and he can’t help feeling relieved when his magic flows easily and the sigil lands in his hand with a thump.

He pins it to his tunic carefully. “We should probably do something about your chambers. Unless you want everyone to know what we’ve been doing.”

Arthur hums. “Can’t you just use your magic?”

“I would never abuse my magic in that way,” Merlin says seriously. He manages to hold it together for three seconds, before he and Arthur both start snickering. Merlin flicks his fingers and the room rearranges itself.

“I’ll send for some food,” Arthur suggests, walking over to the door. “Given what we’re about to discuss, I think we’re going to need something to keep us going.”

Merlin can’t provide his stomach doesn’t lurch a bit at that. He tries to keep his tone light, to not reveal how much he’s dreading the upcoming conversation. “Good idea. I’m going to let Aithusa back in.”

Aithusa is chewing a pillow in the antechamber when he goes in there. She has apparently forgiven him for being temporarily exiled, because she bounds over to him. Merlin crouches down to get a proper look at her. “Hello, Aithusa.”

They keep a few beagles in the kennels to take out on hunts and Aithusa is roughly the same size as one of them now. One of the younger ones, perhaps, and she’s still pretty light, easy to pick up and cart around. Merlin read somewhere that birds have hollow bones and makes a note to ask Gaius if he thinks dragons have similar anatomy.

Aithusa chirps happily, bumping her snout into his hand. She rises up onto her hind legs, tiny claws digging into his breaches.

“You’ve grown,” Merlin tells her softly. “I’m not sure what we’re going to give you to eat in Camelot. Do you think dragons like sausages?”

He unpicks one of her claws when it digs in a little too sharply. “Thank you for saving me, Aithusa. I never would have gotten free without you. You were such a brave girl.”

Aithusa rests her chin on his knee, sighing. He scratches her behind the ears. “Did - did Morgana hurt you?”

The little dragon makes a mournful sound and Merlin sinks his teeth into his bottom lip. “Morgana is very dangerous. You stay away from her, okay? But don’t worry, I won’t let her hurt you again.”

He takes a deep breath and scoops Aithusa into his arms. He catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror; blue and gold finery, bruised face, a white dragon curled into his chest.

“Don’t worry,” Merlin repeats to their reflection. “I won’t let her hurt anyone, ever again.”

-

The first thing Gwaine does when he sees him is pull Merlin into a tight hug. Aithusa, perched on the back of Arthur’s chair, hisses under breath. Merlin ignores her and clings to his friend tightly.

Gwaine swipes at his eyes when they pull apart. “I wanted to do that yesterday, but you looked like shite. I thought a stiff wind would knock you flying.”

Merlin’s own eyes are stinging, and he grasps Gwaine’s arm. “Thank you, Gwaine.”

“I’m just glad you’re back,” Gwaine says seriously. Percival’s hand is resting at the small of his back. “And looking a lot better. Don’t ever do that to me again, Merlin.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “It’s not like I had much of a choice.”

Gwaine just elbows him, before taking a seat. Percival gives Merlin a squeeze as well, which is nice because. Arms. He also winks and tells Merlin he likes his tunic, before taking a chair beside Gwaine.

Mordred is the next to arrive, opening the door tentatively, as though he’s still not sure he belongs there.

“Good morning, Merlin,” he says quietly, closing the door behind him. “My Lord. Aithusa.”

Aithusa chirps at that. Gwaine gives him an odd look. “Are you in the habit of wishing dragons good morning, Sir Mordred?”

Mordred looks at him as though he’s the strange one. “I am when they can understand you.”

Gwaine does a double take. “When they can _what_?”

Mordred turns to Merlin. “She can, can’t she? If not the words, but the tone and her name. One day she’ll be able to speak herself.”

“She’ll be able to _what_?” Gwaine repeats incredulously.

Percival pats his hand. “Best to quit while you’re ahead.”

“Merlin, your injuries are looking better,” Mordred begins. “Did they - “

They’re interrupted by Leon bursting through the door. Leon makes a lot of dramatic entrances, which is ironic really because Merlin suspects Leon would really prefer it if there was nothing he needed to make a dramatic entrance about.

Arthur sits up in his chair. “What is it?”

“Agravaine is gone.”

“What?” Arthur stands up, eyes wide. “But - but the wards!”

Mordred flushes, looking troubled. “I - I did do them. I swear - “

“We know, Mordred,” Merlin says quickly. “No one’s blaming you. Your wards were designed to stop anyone - or anything - dangerous coming into the city, right?”

Mordred nods shakily. “Yes. Yes, not to - not to stop anyone getting out.”

“Exactly.” Merlin spreads his hand. “ Magic can be tricky and in this case, the wards did what they were made to do. The wards were literally made to keep danger out. And the danger - the danger is now out.”

“He must have sneaked out in the early hours,” Leon states. “Probably when the patrols changed over. No one realised until a maid went in just now to ask about his midday meal. It’s not unusual for him to sleep in late.”

“Lazy sack of shit,” Gwaine grunts. “Why run? Why now?”

“Maybe he didn’t expect us to come back,” Percival offers. “So when we did, he knew something had gone wrong.”

“Or Morgana sent him a message,” Leon suggests. “Told him to get out of the castle, because her plan for whatever she was going to do to Merlin failed. Called him back so she can strategize.”

“I’m glad he’s gone,” Gwaine spits. “Good riddance. Let him join forces with Morgana, we’ll be ready.”

Merlin drums his fingers against the table. “I think he was saving his own skin. He knew I’d be pointing the finger at him, especially after what happened in your chambers.”

Arthur’s voice is like ice. “Well, he’s delayed his execution for now. But he can’t outrun it forever. Merlin, did you manage to place that tracking spell on him?”

“Fuck, no. I meant to and then - well. Things went to shit.”

Mordred still looks pale, but he speaks up. “I - I may be able to find him.”

Arthur frowns. “How?”

“The druids have ways of tracing people. Of - of looking ahead.”

Merlin stares at him. “Like scrying? Do you know how to scry?”

“Not exactly like scrying, but - “

“Hold up,” Gwaine interrupts. “Mordred, how do you know what the druids can do?”

There’s a pause, where Mordred and Merlin share a long look, before Mordred sighs. “I don’t just have magic. I’m a druid.”

Gwaine gapes at him. “You’re a - is that why you were at the market that time?”

“Can we get back to the scrying?” Merlin says in a bored tone. He can see Arthur hiding a smile behind his hand. “Mordred, can you teach me - “

Gwaine looks pained. “Shut up, Merlin.”

“Hey!”

“Before we continue,” Gwaine says loudly, ignoring Merlin’s protests. “Is there anything else anyone wants to confess to?” He glares around the table, crossing his arms. “Any other revelations to make?”

Mordred fidgets, before turning to Merlin. Merlin looks at him with wide eyes and thinks very loudly, _no_.

Like a wolf scenting blood, Gwaine fixes his gaze on Mordred. “_Anything at all._”

Mordred, proving he is the utter traitor Merlin always suspected him to be, blurts, “Merlin is the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth.”

“_Mordred_!” Merlin shouts.

“I’m sorry,” Mordred says, not sounding at all apologetic.

“Is that true?” Gwaine says weakly. “Merlin, is that - Merlin.”

Merlin wiggles in his seat. “I mean. It’s been said before. But it’s not - it isn’t - “

“It’s a prophecy,” Mordred explains. “It’s - did you just kick me?”

“It’s just something the druids say!” Merlin says, feeling the heat rush to his face at the awe that is dawning in his friend’s eyes. “I don’t - I’m not.”

Arthur rests his chin on his hand. “Is this why the druids call you Emrys?”

Merlin scowls at him. “Are you enjoying this?”

Arthur leans over and kisses his cheek. “Just a small amount. Is that why they call you Emrys?”

Merlin sighs. “Yes, that’s why.”

“What does that mean?” Percival enquires tentatively. “Why do they call you that?”

“The druids believe Emrys is the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth,” Mordred says, his voice hushed. “He is destined to bring magic back to the world and unite the land of Albion.”

Percival gasps. Merlin crosses his arms and thumps his head against the table.

Gwaine clears his throat. “That’s a - that’s a pretty big prophecy. So Merlin is like - druid royalty?”

Mordred laughs. “Druids don’t have hierarchies like that, but yes. That would probably be the simplest comparison.”

Arthur’s hand rests on Merlin’s neck, tugging gently on the ends of his hair. “You never told me you were druid royalty.”

“Shut _up_, Arthur,” Merlin mutters, keep his head firmly buried in his arms.

Gwaine has apparently moved on from shock and back to his default state of taking the piss. “Merlin, if you marry Arthur, does that mean you have two kingdoms or just - “

Merlin lifts his head. “Can we get back to the point of this meeting?”

Leon clears his throat. “I agree.”

Merlin exhales. “Thank you, Leon.”

Leon nods, and then ruins the moment by adding, “Of course, your highness.”

The knights erupt into laughter and Merlin groans. He stands up, reaching for Aithusa. “You’re all bastards. I’m leaving. I’ll sort Morgana out myself. It won’t be that hard given I’m the “greatest sorcerer to walk the earth.” “

Aithusa jumps down from Arthur’s chair and trots over to him. Merlin picks her up and buries his face in her scales. “Aithusa, you’re the only one I can trust.”

“Okay, okay,” Arthur laughs, looping a finger in Merlin’s belt. “We’ll stop. Gwaine, shut up. Merlin, sit down.”

Merlin glares at him, but reluctantly thumps back down in his chair. Aithusa climbs up his arm and drapes herself over his shoulders, swishing her tail back and forth.

Arthur clears his throat. “Right. Back to business. Agravaine is gone, which has its own advantages and disadvantages. We need to see if he took anything with him.”

Gwaine frowns. “Like what?”

“Maps of the city,” Leon says grimly. “Different ways to invade the castle that they can use, if Morgana is planning a siege.”

“Any lists of our allies,” Merlin adds. “Morgana could do a lot of damage if she had that. She wouldn’t be afraid to target them, cut off our resources and our forces.”

Arthur nods gravely. “There’s a lot of valuable information within Camelot that Agravaine could have got his hands on.”

Leon leans forward, eyes flickering over Merlin’s face. “Merlin, what did Morgana want? What happened when she took you?”

Merlin swallows. “She definitely had something planned, though I have no idea what. It was odd, she kept talking about using me to hurt Arthur.”

Gwaine frowns. “How? By holding you hostage? Getting to Arthur that way?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, not like that. She said that she had planned to take you, Leon, at first.”

Leon’s face hardens. “She wanted people close to Arthur.”

“Exactly. And she said that I wouldn’t have a choice, that I’d do whatever she said, even if I didn’t want to.” Merlin shivers. “She had something - something in a box. She called it - damn, I can’t remember. Something beginning with a - an f? Maybe? I was pretty concussed by then.”

“Did you get to see what was in the box?” Percival asks anxiously.

“No, thank god. But there was definitely something in there. This is going to sound mad, but I’m - I’m pretty sure it hissed.”

Mordred gasps. “Merlin, did Morgana say she had a femora?”

Merlin blinks. “Yes, yes - that’s exactly what she said! What is it? What’s a femora?”

Mordred looks distinctly uncomfortable. “It’s a creature of very dark magic. Even the druids don’t like to speak about it. I’ve never seen one, but a femora looks like a snake. They can take over the mind of a person, force them to do whatever the sorcerer that controls them wants.”

Arthur grabs Merlin’s hand. “How? How could it do that?”

Mordred winces and Merlin feels sick. “A femora burrows under a person’s skin and controls their mind.”

Merlin stares at him. “She was going to put a snake in my brain?”

“Yes,” Mordred says grimly. “It would have taken you over, forced you to do Morgana’s bidding. The femora is the name for the serpent itself but it’s - it’s a serpent with more than one head.”

Merlin blanches and Mordred winces in sympathy. “Even if you kill one of the heads, it’ll only grow back. You have to burn the mother beast, burn it and cast a spell, or it will keep growing back.”

Aithusa can sense his distress, because she chirps gently in his ear. Merlin reaches out and grips her tail. “That is - okay, that’s disgusting.”

“That’s _fucked_,” Gwaine says bluntly. “And she was going to put that in Merlin’s head?”

“Can we not talk about it?” Merlin asks, feeling a bit queasy. “In fact, can we never talk about mind controlling snakes that are forced into your body again, please?”

“I agree,” Leon mutters. “Though, thank god you did escape, Merlin. Imagine if you had been under Morgana’s control. We all know what she would have forced you to do.”

“I want to know what she’s doing now,” Arthur says tightly. His fingers are tightly entwined with Merlin’s. “Her more devious, more calculated plan hasn’t worked. And Agravaine is gone, she doesn’t have a man on the inside anymore.”

“Which means she’s going to change tactics,” Merlin finishes softly. “She’s going to attack us outright.”

Arthur exhales. “Yes. That’s exactly what I think she’s going to do.”

“She’s more than bided her time,” Leon says gravely. “Her first attempt at kidnap didn’t work. And now trying to get Merlin under her control has failed, too. “

Percival hums thoughtfully. “And I don’t know what allies she has, but two failures won’t look good to them. She risks losing their support if she doesn’t act soon. They won’t back her forever if all her plans are being thwarted. It makes her look weak.”

“Not to mention she’s angry,” Merlin adds. “Even if I did have magic, she doesn’t know the extent of my powers and I’m still just a serving boy to her. She’ll be furious that I escaped, humiliated, too.”

“And Agravaine will have told her you’re King’s favourite,” Leon says.

Merlin frowns. “Why does that matter?”

“Because if you’re made consort, you’re next in line to the throne,” Leon explains bleakly. “Arthur doesn’t have any other family - as consort, _you’d_ be his family. And that puts you in the direct path to the throne that Morgana wants.”

Merlin knows his smile is bitter. “So she really is running out of time.”

“She’s cornered,” Mordred says quietly, the first time he’s spoken. “And she’s going to lash out.”

Gwaine heaves a huge sigh. “This is it, isn’t it.”

Everyone looks at him. Gwaine arches an eyebrow, swinging his legs up into Percival’s lap. To anyone else it’d look like nonchalance, but Merlin can see the way Percival’s hands wrap around Gwaine’s ankle. “We’re going to war.”

“Yes,” Arthur says grimly. “We’re going to war.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fun fact - never intended to have a sex scene in this chapter. never intended it to turn out like _that_ either but. it did? hope it was okay? was it rushed? was it a bit much? am i seriously considering this extending the chapter count to this story to put some more sex scenes in? MAYBE SO. (i don't even like sex scenes that much, this baby has always been a self indulgent season four rewrite but like. i am having some _ thoughts _)
> 
> anyway on a more important note - y'all remember that meme joke i made in the kelpie chapter ... well someone actually made some art of it and I AM STILL IN SHOCK at how gorgeous it is, so please go send lots of love - here is the link!! https://archiveofourown.org/works/25309774
> 
> this chapter was fun to write. i love writing aithusa interacting with merlin and will be forever bitter we didn't get to see more of it. i feel like i'm finding my stride with mordred too - never written him before! - so i am also forever bitter we never got to see him and merlin interacting as friends. i have been lazily planning my next fic which will be a modern au. i'm quite excited for it actually, as haven't really written modern aus, apart from a couple of one shots in a series yeaars ago. (which i wont delete even though they need a serious editing because. they're not completely shitty. actually they're not even shitty. i like them and i write different now but that's okay, because that's what happened when you write more and more. be kind to yourself people.) 
> 
> i actually have 234 words of my new one started. merlin is currently in tescos. there will be a kelpie in that too. (though not in tesco)
> 
> thank you for all the comments!! I cannot stress how much they make me happy! let me know what you thought of this one (only if you want to lmao)
> 
> i am still rereading red white and royal blue. i love alex a whole lot tho i'm bias given i am also bi and stressed a lot of the time. after that i'll reread foxhole court but kinda have to prepare myself for that one, because it's a whole lotta pain. ten out of ten would die for andrew minyard in a heartbeat. AND HE WOULDNT EVEN CARE i love him
> 
> oh my god i was looking for trashy romance books cause like. sometimes you gotta. and i was on goodreads and found a whole section of trashy gay romances and i spent an entire night reading about gay royal soulmates in space and it was fucking ace. it wasn't even shit writing it was good. who even knew that was a whole genre. NOT ME. didn't even refer to the male characters as 'the younger' or 'the older' once. fucking. ace.


	25. Chapter 25

Merlin smuggles Aithusa down to Gaius’ chambers later so he can meet her properly. It goes a lot better than their first introduction, and after a bit of hissing, Aithusa perches on Gaius’ workbench and watches avidly as he mixes some potions.

“I have no idea what we’re going to feed her,” Merlin sighs. He draws his knee up to his chest and rests his cheek on it. “I gave her one of Arthur’s sausages this morning, she seemed to like that.”

“She’s very fond of you,” Gaius comments. He holds the vial out of Aithusa, who sniffs it curiously before sneezing. “Very protective.”

“Well, the feeling is mutual.” Merlin smiles fondly as Aithusa knocks over a potion bottle. “Isn’t she precious, Gaius?”

Gaius smiles at him. “She certainly is. You should be very proud of yourself, Merlin. Dragons never would have returned to this land if not for you.”

Merlin shrugs. “I never could have left her.”

“I remember that young boy who first arrived in Camelot,” Gaius says softly. “When I look at you now, I see someone completely different. I’m so proud of the man you’ve become, Merlin.”

Merlin swallows, his throat feeling tight. “I - thank you, Gaius.”

“I hear things are going well between you and Mordred.” Gaius peers at him over his glasses. “I know how frightened you were of him, of the prophecy. It took great courage to give him a chance.”

“I like him,” Merlin says quietly. “I never thought I would, but I do. All he wants is to prove himself, to do some good. And it’s - it’s nice to have another sorcerer around. He understands things in a way the others don’t.”

“He speaks very highly of you and Arthur. I always see him working hard on the practice field.”

Merlin bites his lip. “He helped heal me, too, after I escaped. I’ve been thinking about it and I - I almost jeopardised all that.”

“What do you mean?”

“I said he’s desperate to prove himself, to belong. Imagine what would have happened if I had shut him out, pushed him away? It would have shoved him straight into Morgana’s arms. She’d be more than willing to to use him to her advantage.”

“Then it’s best for everyone, including Mordred himself, that he’s on Arthur’s side.”

“Yes. Not to mention we’re going to need all the help we can get.”

“You really believe Morgana is planning an attack?”

Merlin sighs. “Of course she is. What other choice does she have, Gaius? All her plans have fallen through. I bet Agravaine is whispering in her ear right now. Besides, I know something is coming.”

Gaius raises his eyebrows. “One of those feelings of yours?”

“Yes.” Merlin wets his lips. “I can feel it. It’s like - like the air before thunder strikes. My magic feels like it's crawling out from under my skin.”

Aithusa lifts her head at the sound of his voice. She scrambles over to him, wrapping herself around the foot he has planted on the floor. Merlin’s heart does a funny little lurch. “I’m going to have to leave her.”

Gaius frowns and Merlin clears his throat. “Aithusa can’t stay in the castle whilst we’re waiting for an attack. I’m planning to take her to Kilgarah again. He can keep her safe until this is all over.”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius says gently. “Are you sure?”

“You know it’s for the best,” Merlin mumbles. “I’d never forgive myself if something happened. We’ll be in the middle of a battle, I can’t keep an eye on her, and I don’t want Morgana anywhere near her. She’ll be safer out of Camelot, until this is all passed.”

Gaus gets up and walks over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “It’s the right thing to do, though that doesn’t make it any easier.”

Merlin takes a deep breath, shaking his head. “It’ll be fine. It shouldn’t be for long and then she can come back. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that right now. I need your help.”

Gaius narrows his eyes. “What did you do?”

“Why do you assume I did anything?” Merlin complains.

“Because you usually have,” Gaius grumbles. He grabs a book off his shelf and walks back over to his desk. “Have you found another dragon egg?”

Merlin snorts. “I wish. No, I - it’s just that - “

Gaius blinks at him, nonplussed.

“I’m in love with Arthur,” Merlin blurts.

There’s a long pause, where Merlin stares at Gaius anxiously, his palms sweaty.

“Merlin,” Gaius says eventually, in the tone of someone who wishes to perish on the spot. “The only person who appears to find that surprising is you.”

“What?” Merlin stutters. “But, I - that’s - “

“Merlin,” Gaius snaps, like Merlin is a complete imbecile. “You have been half in love with that boy since you arrived in Camelot. Was the fact that you kept risking your life to save his not a bit of an indicator?”

Merlin flushes. “Okay, so maybe I already knew that I cared for him, that I - loved him. But I didn’t know I was in love with him.”

Gaius burrows his head in his hands. “How exactly did that escape your notice?”

“Well, I’ve never been in love with someone before!” Merlin shouts. “How was I supposed to know? Anyway, that’s not the important bit.”

Gaius groans. “I don’t want to know what the important bit is.”

Gaius is being extremely unhelpful right now, so he ignores him. “What do I do now? Do I tell him?”

“Tell him what?”

“That I love him, Gaius!”

Gaius lifts his head, heaving a huge sigh. “Merlin, do you want to tell him?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin says immediately. “What if he’s not in love with me? What if I say it and he says nothing back? Can you imagine how embarrassing that would be?”

“Merlin, I’m sure Arthur loves you - “

“But he’s never said it!” Merlin interrupts, anxiety twisting in his stomach. “Not once. I hadn’t even realised until now, but he hasn’t.”

“Well, some people - some people express their affections in other ways.”

“Yeah, but it’s Arthur,” Merlin says. “He loves all the romantic stuff, the man’s a complete sap. Do you not remember the flower petals?”

Gaius fixes him with a look. “Merlin, what is this really about?”

Merlin swallows. He bends down to hide his face, hauling Aithusa into his lap. “It’s just - I told you. I’ve never done this before. What if I mess it up? What if I tell Arthur and it goes wrong?”

“How could telling Arthur you love him possibly go wrong?” Gaius asks gently.

Merlin runs a hand over Aithusa’s scales. “I don’t know. I’m so wound up at the moment with everything, that this is just another thing for my brain to latch onto. And - okay, maybe I did suspect I - l loved Arthur, if I was being honest with myself. But knowing something and having someone know it too - that’s different.”

“I understand,” Gaius says soothingly. “For the record, I think it’s quite clear that you are the apple of Arthur’s eye.” He laughs when Merlin blushes. “And I can’t speak for Arthur, but I imagine he feels as nervous as you do about admitting that.”

Aithusa snags a hold of his cuff and tugs it with one fang. Merlin pulls his sleeve free before she can destroy it completely. “I mean, his schedule has been pretty busy lately, too.”

“And you said that Arthur likes romantic gestures” Gaius points out. “I may be old, but I don’t think confessing your love in the middle of a war is the height of romance.”

Merlin grins. “Yeah, not exactly the right moment. Thank you, Gaius, you always listen to whatever thoughts are bouncing around in my head.”

Gaius waves his hand. “There’s nothing to thank me for. And I think you should just tell Arthur whenever you’re ready.”

“I will.” Merlin pauses. “Same for Arthur. Whenever he’s ready. If he even feels that way. No pressure.”

“Merlin, Arthur is not part of this conversation.”

“And he will never know about it,” Merlin says firmly, lifting Aithusa up into the air. “Will he, Aithusa? No, no he won’t.”

Aithusa is delighted to be swung about like a rag-doll, and chirps in excitement. Merlin tries to ignore the knot in his stomach at the thought of not seeing her for who knows how long.

“It’s the big meeting tomorrow. The war meeting.”

“Is that what they’re calling it?”

“That’s what I’m calling it,” Merlin shrugs. “We’re going to war, aren’t we? As soon as Morgana makes her move, we’ll make ours.”

He pauses, before saying nonchalantly, “You’ll be there, won’t you?”

Gaius sees through him straight away, but is kind enough not to call him out on it. “Yes, Merlin. I’ll be there.”

“Good,” Merlin says, and swings Aithusa around again.

-

Merlin dresses in the blue tunic again for the war meeting. He fixes the sigil to his chest and draws the silver dragon belt around his waist. Merlin isn’t entirely comfortable with his newest role, but he can’t deny dressing the part helps. He’s beginning to understand why Arthur’s entire demeanour changes once the final buckle of his armour is done.

It’s a sombre mood within the council chambers, the tension thick and heavy in the air. Gwaine shoots Merlin a wink as Arthur takes his seat at the head of the table, Merlin taking the chair to his left.

“I’ll get straight to it,” Arthur announces. “You will all have noticed by now Lord Agravaine has left the castle. Well, he didn’t leave willingly. He fled, like a coward, because he has been betraying Camelot for months.”

There is immediate uproar. Arthur bears it all with cool detachment, looking on with an air of boredom. He allows a minute or two of discussion, before raising his hand. The room instantly falls quiet.

“I have known about this for several months,” Arthur continues. “I did not bring it to the council’s attention, because I knew we could gain more from observing my Uncle undetected. It’s because of this tactic we know he is working with the Lady Morgana.”

This time there is no murmuring, just silence. Arthur’s expression turns grim, a mirror of those around the table. Merlin knows they’re all thinking of the last time Morgana attacked Camelot.

“Morgana’s latest plot was to kidnap Merlin and turn him against me by using dark magic.”

There are several glances in his direction at that. Merlin realises with a jolt that it’s respect he’s reading in a number of eyes. The councillors don’t know how he escaped Morgana, they only know that he _did_, which is no small feat.

“She failed,” Arthur says in satisfaction. “However, her failure means her next attack will be far less subtle. Already there are reports of her to the north. Sir Leon?”

Leon nods. “Yes, Sire. Our latest intelligence says she is headed for the warlord Helios.”

Merlin grimaces. There are plenty of rumours about Helios. None of them are particularly pleasant.

“We believe she intends to ally with him. He has a small army under his own command, all as violent and ruthless as he is.”

Leon finishes, turning to Merlin, who clears his throat. “I checked and the plans for the siege tunnels have been taken. I suspect this is how Morgana’s army intends to infiltrate the castle.”

“Where Camelot’s knights will be waiting for them,” one of the councilmen says.

“They will be,” Arthur says slowly. “But that is not all Camelot is going to need to defeat this threat.”

The same councilman frowns. “What do you mean, my Lord?”

Arthur’s eyes are steely. “The knights of Camelot are the finest in the land. I have no doubt they’d be able to take on Helios and his army. But Morgana is a different threat entirely and her powers are not something that can be defeated by sword and steel alone.”

Lord Samuel, who Merlin knows is a friend of Gaius’, raises an eyebrow. “My King? Are you - are you suggesting - “

“Yes,” Arthur says calmly. “I’m suggesting that we will need sorcery to win this battle.”

“But - but sorcery is outlawed!” someone splutters.

“It is,” Arthur agrees evenly. “But I had intended to lift the ban on magic shortly, anyway.”

Arthur is dropping a lot of bombshells today. Merlin would find it more entertaining if he wasn’t on the edge of his seat with nerves.

“Those who use magic to defend Camelot in the battle will not be punished,” Arthur continues. “And after we defeat Morgana, I will lift the ban on magic for good.”

“But - but sorcery is evil!”

“Is it?” Arthur asks quietly. “I grew up in the same Camelot that you did. The only evil I remember is innocent men, women and children being executed for something they couldn’t control. Is that the kind of kingdom you want Camelot to continue to be? Do you really want more bloodshed?”

Merlin’s nails are biting into his leg where his hands are gripping his thighs. He doesn’t want to look around the table but at the same time he can’t drag his eyes away. Arthur’s words have left their mark; some of the councillors have gone pale, eyes cast down in pain - or shame, Merlin isn’t sure. The rest are stone faced, unreadable. It’s a mixture of reactions, but that’s more than he’d even dreamed they’d get so. It’s _something_.

Lord Anthony is the first to speak. He’s one of the more elderly councilmen. Merlin has spent a long time mentally earmarking which council members fall into the ‘light pyre, ask questions later,’ category, or the ‘perhaps bigotry and tyranny isn’t the best way to rule a kingdom,’ category. Lord Anthony, thankfully, is one of the latter.

It’s probably because it’s so incomprehensible to him, but Merlin forgets that many of the council members will have lived during a time where magic was commonplace in Camelot. Before the purge, before the relentless persecution of all sorcerers. Surely not all of them can have agreed with Uther’s decrees.

“Even were sorcerers permitted to defend the castle,” Lord Anthony begins carefully. “Why would anyone with magic want to fight for Camelot? Surely they’d want to align with their own kind.”

Merlin’s hands ball into fists. _Their own kind_.

Beneath the table, Arthur’s hand slips onto his thigh.

“Because not all sorcerers are the same,” Arthur replies. “Just as no man is the same. Do you think any sorcerers in Camelot really want to see it fall into Morgana’s hands? After seeing what she did to the city last time? After the pain she inflicted on its people? There may be those who are sympathetic to her cause, but my Uncle hasn’t a drop of magical blood and he was a traitor, too.”

“The druids have magic,” Leon adds quietly. “Yet they only use their powers for good. We have all seen how peaceful they are, how much trade has flourished between our people. If magic really does corrupt all those that use it, it makes no sense the druids are so peaceful.”

Lord Edward shakes his head, a sneer on his face. “Your father would never have - “

“I am not my father,” Arthur says coolly. “This is no longer his kingdom, it’s mine. And I have a duty to everyone in it. Everyone. Not just to those who have the privilege of living their lives without the fear of execution hanging over their head.”

He shakes his head, eyes blazing. “I’m not asking you to accept the use of sorcery within one night. Our prejudices, our beliefs, they take longer than that to unlearn and I don’t pretend otherwise. What I’m asking you is this. Do you really think Camelot can survive an attack from Morgana with swords and arrows alone?”

The silence is deafening. Arthur’s hand is gripping his thigh, though Merlin can barely feel it.

No one disagrees with Arthur’s statement. Arthur leaves the silence just long enough to be uncomfortable, before turning back to Leon. “What of our allies to the north?”

“Queen Annis has already posted scouts on her borders,” Leon answers smoothly. “It’s possible that Morgana may try to travel through the forests there. She has also pledged to send additional soldiers if needed.”

“Nemeth has also been vocal in their support,” Merlin comments, drawing a piece of parchment towards him. He memorised everything on it last night in Arthur’s chambers, but it’s something to steady his hands. “Princess Mithian has been taking on more of a diplomatic role, in preparation for when she will eventually take the throne.”

“We’ve had talks planned with Nemeth for some time now,” Arthur muses. “Their support would certainly aid any treaty discussions in the future.”

Merlin nods. “I imagine that is their intention. But their offer of extra troops is a generous one.”

The conversation swiftly turns into a discussion about the size of their army and where to best place their soldiers. Leon produces a map from somewhere - bless him - and the focus slowly shifts to planning their defence. Merlin lets out a slow, quiet breath, and Arthur’s hand relaxes on his leg.

They just might get away with this after all.

-

In the coming days, Merlin is busier than he’s ever been. Which is saying something, given that Merlin hasn’t had a minute to himself since he arrived in Camelot. They spend hours pouring over maps of the citadel and the surrounding lands. When Arthur’s not preoccupied with strategy, he’s running drills with the knights, over and over again on the practice field.

There never seems to be enough hours in the day, and the ones he does have are split between reading through every spell book he can get his hands on, or going through his paces with a bow or a sword.

That’s where Gwaine and Percival find him, down in the armoury where he’s pulling on his arm guard and gloves.

“Hello, Merlin,” Gwaine grins. “We were just looking for you.”

Merlin eyes him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Are you just going to use your magic in the battle?” Gwaine asks casually.

“Gwaine!” Merlin hisses. “The door is wide open!”

He hurries to slam it shut, ignoring Gwaine’s bickering with Percival about why he didn’t close the door behind them.

“Er, sorry,” Gwaine says. “But are you?”

Merlin picks a bow from the rack and sighs. “Gwaine, how long before you get to the point?”

“Rude,” Gwaine mutters. “What about your bow? Will you use that?”

Merlin pauses, surprised by the question. “I - I hadn’t thought about it.”

In truth, he’s been practising more out of habit than anything. It’s relaxing by now, the strain in his arms, the familiar weight of the bow. And it’s good for the people to see him preparing for battle - even if Merlin intends to use something very different when it comes to actually fighting.

Besides, after the femora he’s nervous about what else Morgana may have planned for him. If anyone could find a way to strip away a sorcerer’s magic, it would be her, and Merlin doesn’t intend to ever be left defenceless again.

Gwaine grins at him. “Okay, hear me out. Magical arrows.”

“Magical arrows,” Merlin repeats dubiously.

Percival nods enthusiastically. “Yeah. Like, could you spell an arrow to explode once it hits its target?”

Merlin blinks. “I mean - probably? Yes, that’d be easy.”

“Nice,” Gwaine says appreciatively. “What about an arrow that always returned to you?”

“That sounds gross but yeah. Probably.”

Percival and Gwaine quiz Merlin for another fifteen minutes. Merlin isn’t sure whether to chalk it up to a knight’s obsession with shiny weapons, or whether it’s Gwaine and Percival’s innate inability to keep out of trouble.

He glances contemplatively at his bow after they leave. It’s not a totally stupid idea, and he finds himself slipping away to one of the more secluded practice areas. No one is around this late in the afternoon and his magic will warn him if anyone approaches.

Arthur stumbles upon him an hour later. “Merlin! I’ve been looking for you.”

Merlin draws his arm back, fingers tight around his bow string. “Not you as well.”

Arthur snorts. “Have lots of men looking for you, do you?”

“Dozens,” Merlin says casually. “Can’t keep them away.”

Arthur laughs and wanders over to a bench. He flops down onto it, eyes sharp as they appraise him. “Your form has improved.”

Merlin lets his arrow hit the centre target as a response. Arthur whistles appreciatively and Merlin gives him a sweeping bow.

“Are you practising, then?” Arthur asks, settling more comfortably on the bench.

Merlin lifts his hand and the arrow returns to his hand of its own accord. “It was Gwaine’s idea actually.”

“Oh? I can’t wait to hear this one.”

“Gwaine thinks I should use magical arrows in the battle.”

“Magical arrows?”

Merlin points his bow at him. “See, I used that tone as well. But I’m starting to wonder if it might not be a completely terrible idea.”

Arthur leans forward, brow furrowed. “How would that work?”

Merlin shrugs. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out. It’d certainly be useful for more long range attacks. And I’ve been thinking. Magic wasn’t always outlawed, the other kingdoms must have had court sorcerors who fought alongside them in battle. I bet they found a way for their magic to be incorporated alongside using swords and shields.”

“I may have a few ideas,” Arthur says slowly, and when Merlin looks at him, a smile is spreading across his face.

-

Mordred comes to Arthur’s chambers the next night.

They’re both exhausted from a day of war preparations. Merlin is sitting cross legged on the love-seat by the window, a book open in his lap. He’s idly flicking through the pages, as Arthur rests his cheek against Merlin’s shoulder, one hand on Merlin’s thigh.

Arthur’s eyes are closed but he’s not asleep. He’s just resting from the day’s events, taking a moment to let the weariness wash off him. The candles flicker softly, the shadows stretching across the walls and building a cocoon around them.

A soft knock on the door has them both lifting their heads. Arthur makes a small, disconcerted noise, and Merlin’s heart strings tug painfully. They both relax when Mordred’s curly head peers around the door. “I’m sorry to disturb you, Sire.”

Arthur sighs, still slumped against Merlin’s side. “Mordred, I’ve told you. It’s Arthur.”

“Right,” Mordred says, in that awestruck way that guarantees he’ll never be calling Arthur by his first name.

“Mordred, do you want some salve for that bruise?” Merlin asks.

Mordred touches the mottled skin beneath his eye, courtesy of a training session with Gwaine earlier. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

Merlin waves him away, climbing to his feet. Arthur sits up, looking disgruntled, so Merlin ducks down to press a kiss to his brow, which appeases him somewhat.

Arthur yawns, gesturing for Mordred to take a chair. “What can I help you with at this hour, Mordred?”

Mordred sits down cautiously. Merlin notices for the first time that he’s wearing a dark cape, his hair ruffled as though he’s been out for a ride. “I wanted to thank you for sending word to the druids. I know you warned them that Morgana could soon be attacking.”

Arthur shakes his head. “The druids are camped in the forests right outside Camelot. There’s every chance Morgana and her army will travel through there to get to the castle. I wanted to give them the heads up, I don’t want anyone getting hurt.”

Mordred’s eyes are soft in the glow from the flames. He opens his mouth to reply, but Merlin has found the salve by now. “Mordred, can you tilt your chin up?”

He carefully dabs the paste into the skin below his eye, Mordred holding obediently still. When he’s finished, he presses the pot into Mordred’s hand. “Here, keep this. Gaius and I can easily make more.”

“Thank you,” Mordred says quietly.

Merlin wanders back over to the love-seat, flopping down beside Arthur. Mordred clears his throat. “I didn’t just come here to thank you. I may not live among them, but the druids did raise me. I - I went to their camp tonight.”

Merlin swings his feet up into Arthur’s lap. “You wanted to see them before the battle? To make sure they were alright?”

Mordred breathes out, as though he’s relieved Merlin understands. “Yes. They are still my people, even if I have chosen a different path to many of them.” He looks down at the salve in his lap. “And after - after that council meeting - “

“You wanted to be around those like you,” Merlin finishes softly. “We understand, Mordred.”

Arthur nods in agreement. He rests his hands on Merlin’s knees, rubbing an absent thumb over the bone there. “And I’m sorry if I ever made you feel you needed permission to leave the castle and visit them.”

Mordred shakes his head quickly. “No, no, that’s not what I meant. I’ve never felt that way, that’s not - that’s not what I wanted to speak to you about.”

Arthur tilts his head to one side. “Then what did you come to tell me?”

Mordred’s cheeks are flushed with a pale pink, a proud smile crossing his face. “I really did go to the druids to see them, but whilst I was there, something else happened. I asked them if they intend to move camp, to avoid Morgana and her army.”

“That would make sense,” Merlin says thoughtfully.

“But they’re not going to move,” Mordred blurts. “They intend to stay and ward the entire forest.”

Merlin gapes at him. “They can do that?”

“Yes,” Mordred says breathlessly. “They’ll be able to ward the entire forest to the east. Morgana and her army will be unable to travel through. The wards will stop them from taking a single step, they’ll have to find another route into Camelot.”

“But - but why?” Arthur stammers. “Why would they do that?”

Mordred grins, young and happy and flushed with pride. “The druids don’t want any further bloodshed. They know what Morgana intends to do. Whilst they won’t actively participate in any battle, they won’t stand by and allow evil to pass through their camp.”

Merlin turns to Arthur, hope sparking in his chest. “Arthur, this is - this is good. Taking her army through the forest would be the quickest path, this - this gives us time.”

Arthur’s eyes are shining. “Time and an advantage. We’ll know when she reaches the edge of the woods, but she’ll have to take time to regroup and find another route. I can’t believe the druids would do this for us.”

Mordred clears his throat. “We may be a peaceful people, but Morgana is no friend to the druids. The druids told me tonight that Morgana has been harassing druid camps across the five kingdoms, desperate for more information, more power. There are rumours that it was a druid who she forced to tell her the whereabouts of the femora.”

“Forced or tortured,” Merlin says grimly.

Mordred looks grave. “Exactly. Besides, the druids have every reason to support Camelot in the upcoming battle.” He gives Merlin a sly look. “Not only because of the King’s ties to Emrys, but because of the success of the trade arrangements.”

Arthur looks stunned and Merlin grins, swooping into to press a kiss to his cheek. “We will have to tell the others in the morning. Thank you, Mordred. This is good news.”

Mordred beams, climbing to his feet. “I know the hour is late, but I wanted to tell you both as soon as I heard.”

“Thank you, Mordred,” Arthur echoes, shock still evident in his voice. “This is - thank you. Get some rest.”

Mordred ducks his head. “I will. Oh, I forgot to say - someone in the camp asked for you.”

Merlin sighs. “Asked for Emrys? Or for me?”

“For you both,” Mordred clarifies. “A little boy. Tam?” Mordred frowns. “He was extremely interested in the fact I lived in the castle.”

“Tam!” Merlin digs Arthur in the rib with his elbow. “Do you remember him? The little boy from the first day the druids came to trade?”

“Get off, Merlin,” Arthur wheezes, squirming away from his elbow. “Yes, I remember him.”

“He was adorable,” Merlin says wistfully. “Is he doing okay?”

“Er, we didn’t speak for long,” Mordred says apologetically. “But, yes. I think so. Very - very lively.”

“He was when we met him,” Merlin says fondly. “Perhaps - perhaps we can go visit. Once all of this is over.”

Mordred hesitates by the door. “I think the druids would welcome that.”

There’s something knowing in his gaze, and Merlin ducks his head to pick at a thread on his tunic. Arthur must sense something is wrong, because he wraps his hand over Merlin’s. He looks at him curiously, but Merlin just shakes his head minutely.

Arthur yawns widely instead. “Right, we all need to get some sleep whilst we still can. Goodnight, Mordred.”

“Goodnight, Sire. Goodnight, Merlin,” Mordred calls softly, and slips out of the room.

Arthur turns to him almost immediately, eyes wide. “Can you believe the druids are helping us?”

“Er, yes,” Merlin laughs. “It probably has something to do with the fact they’re not longer being actively persecuted, but, yes. I can. The druids may be peaceful, but they’ve also always done what was right.”

Arthur tugs him to his feet, pulling him over to the bed. “Still, they don’t have any obligation to Camelot. Not after how we’ve treated them in the past. I don’t get a - a reward for acting how I should have from the beginning. Like a decent human being. Not that it is a reward, I only meant - I know I still have much to prove to the druid people. And I am grateful for their support in spite of that.”

Aithusa is curled up at the end of the blankets and Merlin runs a hand over her scales. “I know what you meant.”

Arthur blows out the candle and they both climb into the bed. Merlin snuggles into the blankets, blinking as his eyes adjust to the darkness.

“So,” Arthur murmurs. “Do you want to tell me what that was about with Mordred? When he mentioned visiting the druid camp?”

Merlin slides a hand under his pillow to prop himself up. “I don’t mind visiting the druid camp. But only - only if I’m visiting as me. Not as - not as Emrys.”

Arthur hums quietly. “I know the knights were only messing around the other day, but you were uncomfortable, weren’t you? With all the talk about you being druid royalty? And you put off telling me about it for so long, which is fine, I’m not scoring points. But I wondered if perhaps the two were connected.”

Merlin squirms. He’s glad for the darkness, for the ease it brings in speaking honestly and from the deepest parts of you. Arthur’s hand curls over his hip, skating one thumb over his rib cage.

“It’s just - the druids don’t even know me,” Merlin blurts. “I’ve only met with them a handful of times, but they’re so - they’re so convinced of my destiny. That I will bring about this great prophecy, but that’s terrifying for a whole range of reasons.”

  
He rolls onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. Arthur’s hand moves with him, so it’s now splayed across Merlin’s stomach.

Merlin holds up two fingers, ticking the reasons off. “One. What if I don’t actually live up to my destiny? Which would mean I’m a complete failure and have let everyone in the five kingdoms down. And two, it’s - it’s more than a little disconcerting that the druids have blind faith in someone they don’t - they don’t even know.”

He flips down the second finger, mouth dry. “I mean, the druids are completely convinced of my future, of what I’ll do. That level of trust it’s - I don’t - it’s dangerous. What if I wasn’t the person they thought I was? What if I was like Morgana? Would they just follow me then?”

He shudders. “I don’t want that kind of power.”

Arthur pushes his hand under Merlin’s shirt, drawing his nails gently against the soft hair of his stomach. Merlin lets out a slow breath, relaxing into the mattress.

“I think that’s probably why they trust you,” Arthur murmurs quietly.

“What do you mean?”

Arthur shuffles closer to him. “Because you don’t want that power. You’ve never wanted it. In all the time I’ve known you, all you’ve ever wanted is to help others. Merlin, you were a manservant for years, when we all know you were more powerful than anyone else in the castle.”

Merlin fidgets. “I told you. I never did it for - for recognition. Or reward. I never wanted any of that.”

“No, you just wanted to help people. Because that’s who you are, Merlin. You’re kind. You care about people.”

“Well, you know that,” Merlin points out. “But the druids don’t. I could have a hidden agenda. I could be worse than Morgana.”

He turns back onto his side, so he and Arthur are face to face. Arthur’s brow is furrowed, and Merlin lifts a hand to smooth it out. “It just makes me feel uncomfortable.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Arthur says softly. “What was it you said to me once? Destinies are troublesome things.”

“I wish I’d been wrong about that,” Merlin grumbles, and Arthur laughs.

He takes Merlin’s hand, bringing it to his lips and brushing them over Merlin’s knuckles. “What if you weren’t the only one the druids look to?”

Merlin pushes a strand of hair away from Arthur’s face. “What are you suggesting?”

Arthur looks thoughtful. “For now, sending messages between our two people works, because we’re in the early stages of establishing a relationship. But going forward, we’re going to need something more formal.”

Merlin sits up, gazing down at him. “Like a - like a representative?”

Arthur grins at him. “Yes. A liaison between Camelot and the druid people. Who could represent their views at council meetings. Trade talks. Just like the other kingdoms do.”

“And they would have to be a druid themselves,” Merlin says slowly. “Because otherwise we’re just making assumptions for them, taking away their voice.”

“And it can’t be you,” Arthur continues. “Because you have magic, but you’re not a druid. And as you keep reminding everyone, there is a distinction.”

“Also because I don’t want to.”

“And because you don’t want to,” Arthur agrees. “I think we have the same person in mind.”

“Yes,” Merlin grins. “I think we do.”

Arthur smiles at him for a moment, before tugging him back down. Merlin goes happily this time, curling into Arthur’s chest. He feels something shift at the end of the sheets, then Aithusa is picking her way over to them.

“Bedtime, Aithusa,” Arthur says firmly, scratching her behind the ears.

Aithusa chirps, turning around three times before she nestles into the gap between the two of them. Arthur won’t let her beneath the covers, he says her claws are too sharp, but he never protests when she settles on top of the blankets.

“Bedtime, Merlin,” Arthur adds, smirking when Merlin bats his hand away from his own ears. “We can plan the future of our Kingdom in the morning.”

“We can plan our holiday in the morning,” Merlin mutters. “That’s the only thing I’m interested in planning.”

Arthur sighs, letting his eyes slip shut. “Me too. Leon can run the kingdom for a few weeks. We both deserve a break.”

“I’m going to see my mother,” Merlin mumbles, sleep tugging at him. “When this is all done. I’m going back to Ealdor.”

“That’ll be nice,” Arthur whispers wistfully.

  
Merlin cracks an eye open. “Obviously you can come too.”

Arthur’s answering smile is like the sun. “Oh. I would like that.”

“Aithusa, too.” She peeps softly at the sound of her name. “Hopefully she can’t breathe fire by then. Ealdor has lots of houses made out of straw and wood.”

Arthur snorts. “Hopefully she’ll never be able to breathe fire.”

“Where would the fun in that be?”

“Go to sleep, Merlin.”

“Don’t tell me what to do,” Merlin yawns, and promptly falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> did we name drop characters in this chapter that will show up later? MAYBE SO 
> 
> I was writing this chapter and really really wanted to dress Merlin up a bit more, (*chants jewellery jewellery jewellery*), but that's going to have to wait for a bit. We have the big battle to get through first, which I only actually planned out this week. I had a vague idea where it was going - read: two lines in a google doc - but it's properly fleshed out now. I CAN FEEL THE TENSION AS I'M WRITING IT lool
> 
> I had always written merlin in this as a little wary of the druid's blind trust in him, but it was a comment on the last chapter that made me really want to dig into more. like merlin is so young and all these people just believe he's going to do this and that ... idk but if i was merlin i'd be a bit unsettled by that too. 
> 
> on a different note - are we all coping with the current situation by returning to our old fandoms? I have read more one direction fanfiction in the past week than i have in two years. and honestly i don't have the energy to be ashamed of it. i have never known chaos like it but i can't deny it was fun all the same. pure hell but in a good way. 
> 
> anyway love to everyone who reads and comments on this! love to hear your thoughts as ever. next chapter it all goes to hell WOO


	26. Chapter 26

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the big chapter TM

Morgana doesn’t leave them waiting in suspense for long.

Her army marches for Camelot three days later. Annis’ scouts send word as soon as the first soldier steps onto the road. Merlin smuggles Aithusa out of the castle that same day and into Kilgarah’s waiting claws.

On his way back, he stops by a certain lake.

As predicted, Morgana is delayed by the druid’s presence in the forest. It gives them an extra day or two, but the time may as well be sand, for all it seems to be slipping through their fingers.

Merlin has never felt like this before; as though his whole body is thrumming with adrenaline, alight with energy. The stakes are higher than they’ve ever been, it’s true, but it’s more than that, he can tell.

_This is it_, his magic whispers, _this is it_, and Merlin grits his teeth.

Mordred can feel it too. He’s restless as he stands beside Merlin in the council chambers, rolls of parchments spread across the table. Their futures laid out in map lines and wooden figures.

Arthur picks up a black figurine and places it down on the table. “Morgana’s armies will be upon us by nightfall. She intends to take us by surprise via the siege tunnels. When this fails, she will have no choice but to attack the main gates.”

“Helios’ army is brutal, but untrained. We have the advantage of being on our territory, but make no mistake. Morgana is ruthless and, more importantly, clever.” Arthur lifts his head. “Do not underestimate her. I have no doubt she has a few surprises prepared for us.”

Mordred’s shoulders hunch, his breathing shallow. Merlin wonders if Mordred is thinking about his last meeting with Morgana, how he attacked her and then betrayed her. What her reaction to seeing the young druid boy again could be.

He slips a reassuring hand onto Mordred’s shoulder, receiving a tentative smile in return. Merlin smiles back, then drops his hand to take the white figurine Arthur hands him. “We’ve evacuated as many of the townspeople as we can. Those who haven’t moved out into the farming villages are being offered refuge by the druids.”

He positions the white figurine down onto the edge of the map. “Nemeth’s forces will flank Helios’ army from behind. Annis has pledged reinforcements should we need them.”

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says quietly. His gaze is piercing as he surveys the room. “The time will soon be upon us. Take these last few hours to be with your families.”

Only the knights remain once the others have left, heads bowed and silent. Gwaine is the first to speak. “Merlin, are you sure about this? The tunnels will be the first place they head for.”

Merlin sighs. “I know. Which is why you need me to cut them off before they can ever use them.”

Gwaine still looks worried, so he tacks on, “Besides, I’ll have Arthur with me.”

Arthur snorts. “Merlin, you’re my protection.”

Merlin spreads his hands with a confidence he doesn’t feel. “Which is why you need me.”

“It’s a good plan,” Leon cuts in harshly. “We’ve been over this, Gwaine.”

“Doesn’t mean I have to like it,” Gwaine snaps, and Percival takes a step closer to him. Leon crosses his arms, single minded and focused the way he always is when the situation is grave.

“None of us like it,” Arthur agrees, dispelling some of the tension. “But Merlin is more powerful than you know. He’s right, we need him. We keep to the plan.”

Gwaine ducks his head, hands curled into fists. Mordred leans forward and carefully plucks a figure from the map. He turns it over in his hand. “Does Morgana suspect your real identity?”

Mordred’s quiet words cut through the room. Merlin swallows as all eyes focus on him. “I - I don’t know. She knows I have magic. And that a dragon came to my defence. She may do.”

Mordred shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter if she knows you’re Emrys or not. It’ll end the same.”

“What do you mean?” Percival asks tentatively. “Couldn’t Morgana be felled by one of the army? We could catch her off guard.”

Merlin takes the wooden figure from Mordred’s trembling hands. “No. She’ll find Arthur and I. Be it on the battlefield or within the castle walls. We have to face her ourselves. It’s how it must be.”

“It’s how this ends,” Mordred murmurs. “It’s the only way it can.”

Merlin nods jerkily, his throat tight and magic skittering down his spine with the truth of his words. There are some things the prophecies always get right.

Percival’s face is ashen and Leon's hand is on his sword.

“Well,” Gwaine says finally. “You better find her first, then.”

-

The hours before the battle seem to exist outside the usual laws of time. In one moment, the minutes catch in the air and drag out like thick treacle. In another, they are gone so quickly that Merlin blinks and an hour has dissipated like smoke.

They spend the first hour perched on the windowsill that looks out into the courtyard. Merlin feels hot and jumpy, and the cool evening’s air is a balm on his skin. Arthur is quiet beside him, their feet dangling over the edge like young boys.

The torches are being lit, glowing in the darkness in a soft imitation of the stars up above. Merlin stares out into the darkness and wonders where Morgana is right now. How close she is out there in the night.

“How was Aithusa?” Arthur murmurs eventually.

“Kilgarah will look after her,” Merlin says, which isn’t quite an answer.

Arthur tilts his head to the sky, the breeze ruffling through his hair. The lines are tight around his mouth, his eyes. His fingers are curled into the stone under them, as though frightened the castle will crumble beneath him if he lets go.

Merlin nudges his shoulder. “Hey. I have something for you.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow. “For me?”

Merlin swings his legs back into the room. “Yes, for you. Come on, you’ll like it.”

He takes Arthur’s hand, leading him over to the table. Arthur leans against it with crossed arms, watching as Merlin walks over to the cupboard where he’d carefully hidden the sword.

Merlin uncovers the cloth, then holds the sword out to Arthur. Arthur’s eyes go wide and he takes it reverently. As soon as the sword touches Arthur’s palm, Merlin’s magic flares like a struck match.

Arthur inhales sharply, and Merlin’s eyes snap to his, wondering if he can feel it too. “It’s beautiful.”

“You have to use it today,” Merlin tells him. “Use it in the battle. It’s - it’s important.”

Arthur places the sword gently onto the table top. He reaches for Merlin’s belt loops, drawing him into the space between his legs. Merlin goes easily, like the sea pulling back from the shore.

Arthur’s hand cups his neck, bringing their foreheads together. “I will. I promise.”

They’re so close that he can feel Arthur’s breath against his lips. They fit together, Arthur’s hand tangled in his hair and Merlin’s fist tight on the bottom of Arthur’s tunic.

“I need to get you into your armour,” Merlin murmurs.

To his surprise, Arthur shakes his head and pushes lightly at Merlin’s chest. “No, I can do that myself for once. I’m not the only one who needs to prepare.”

Merlin nods. He waits until Arthur has slipped behind the screen, then reaches under the bed for the clothes he’d hidden there a few days earlier.

Arthur’s own armour takes forever, which means Merlin is waiting for him and fully dressed before he’s even finished.

He’s fiddling with his vambraces and doesn’t look up straight away. “I can’t get this catch to - oh.”

Merlin smirks, spreading his arms. “What do you think?”

He’s apparently incapable of thinking much at the moment, because Arthur doesn’t reply, just keeps staring at him with his mouth open.

Merlin is dressed in all dark tones, which in itself is enough to make Arthur double take, accustomed to seeing him in blues and purples and reds. He’s in dark boots that reach to his knees. There’s a sleeveless navy tunic, under which he wears a black long sleeved shirt. His arm guard is strapped to his forearm, a rich brown, and he’s wearing his finger-less gloves too.

A black belt winds around his slim waist, the buckle of which is a shining, golden dragon.

“Arthur,” Merlin says after a moment. “Arthur, say something.”

“Where did you - where did you find that?” Arthur croaks.

“George helped me. Don’t tell him I said so, but he’s actually quite good at this. Do you want to see the cape?”

Arthur covers his face with his hands. “You can’t go into battle like that.”

Merlin glares at him, affronted. “What? Why not?”

“Because I’ll be dead in five minutes. I won’t be able to keep my eyes off you,” Arthur groans.

“That sounds like a you problem,” Merlin says, not trying to hide how pleased he feels.

Arthur recovers enough to look Merlin in the eye. His gaze flits to Merlin’s neck, to the lack of scarf, and Merlin knows how the darker colours accentuate the paleness of his skin, the blue of his eyes.

“When I'm the court sorcerer, I’m going to wear this all the time,” Merlin goads him.

“You are not,” Arthur says immediately. “Come here, you little tart.”

Merlin grins and goes to him happily. When their mouths meet, the kiss is heated, bruising, Arthur’s hand tugging on the ends of Merlin’s hair and making him moan.

“You look beautiful,” Arthur breathes when they break apart.

Merlin blushes, and then Arthur adds, “And _powerful_,” and his knees go weak.

He steadies himself by twisting a hand into Arthur’s chain mail. “So do you. You look - you look _golden_, Arthur.”

Arthur is brighter than the sun itself; crimson and silver, blazing blue fire and tousled gold. He flushes the sweetest rose at the compliment, and Merlin knows in that moment he won’t let Morgana lay a finger on him.

-

The courtyard is a hive of activity as they make their way down the stone steps. Leon is an immovable pillar amid the chaos, barking orders and directing troops. Rows of soldiers file past them, their armour glinting silver in the moonlight as crimson capes swirl behind them.

“It’s as we suspected,” Leon calls as Arthur approaches, never once taking his eyes off the men moving into formations. “She’s directed half her army towards the tunnels. The rest are headed for the main gates. You should go now.”

Arthur nods tersely. “Merlin, with me.”

It doesn’t take them long to make their way out of the castle and to the entrance of the siege tunnels.

They come to a halt right outside the entrance. The woods stretch out in front of them and Merlin can already make out the flicker of torches. If he listens carefully, he can hear the drumbeat of footsteps, marching closer.

Merlin glances over his shoulder. “Ready?”

Arthur draws his sword. “As I’ll ever be.”

There are four siege tunnels in total, their entrances concealed by some dense foliage. Just like they planned, Arthur ducks into the middle tunnel, the shadows swallowing him up instantly.

Merlin turns away from him, swallowing hard. He takes a step closer to the forest, a lone figure against the backdrop of the castle, and waits for Agravaine to arrive.

Before long, the snap of branches underfoot echoes through the air. Agravaine blinks at the sight of him, stopping in surprise. The army of men behind him have no choice but to halt. There’s jostling as they shove to the front, trying to see what’s caused the delay.

“Merlin,” Agravaine sneers. “I must admit, I’m surprised to see you.”

Merlin clenches his hands into fists. “I wish I could say the same.”

Agravaine laughs, taking a step forward. “Ah, so you’re more than just a pretty face for Arthur to look at. Perhaps you’ve figured it all out, but it doesn’t matter. You’re too late.”

“Am I?” Merlin says idly. “Arthur always says I’m terrible at time keeping, but I pencilled this in specially.”

Helios’ men have grown quiet. Agravaine doesn’t seem to have noticed, face still pulled into an ugly sneer. “Move aside, Merlin. You can still survive this, even if Arthur won’t. Morgana said you’re capable of a few magic tricks.”

He gestures to the men behind him. “You can’t fight all of us. I have no doubt Morgana will let you join her side, let you make something of yourself other than the King’s bed warmer. Just move aside and tell me where Arthur is.”

His tone has completely changed, turned cajoling, persuasive. It makes Merlin sick.

“This is what you do, isn’t it?” Merlin says quietly. “You get into people’s heads. _Manipulate_ _them_. Only that’s not going to work on me, Agravaine. I know exactly what you are.”

All the faked sweetness is wiped from Agravaine’s face, replaced so quickly by a cold stare that’s it jarring. “Then I’ll kill you myself. Sorcerer or not, you can’t take on an entire army.”

“I don’t _need_ to,” Merlin hisses, and lifts his hand.

The earth rumbles beneath them, shaking and cracking like ice splintering across a lake. Helios’ men obviously have some sense because they back up, shouting in alarm. The ground splits directly behind Agravaine, forcing him to take a step forward, yelping as there’s suddenly air where his heel was.

When it’s over, there’s a chasm between Helios’ men and the castle tunnels, with no route around. Agravaine is left stranded on the other side.

Stranded with _Merlin_, and satisfaction burns in his stomach at the panic that spreads over Agravaine’s face when he realises that fact.

“You - you,” Agravaine splutters, turning desperately to the men on the other side of the divide. Many of them are already stumbling away into the forest without a second glance.

Merlin doesn’t know why Agravaine is so surprised. Helios is ruthless and self-serving, and only hires men who are the exact same. Bandits. Murderers. They’re not loyal like the knights. Besides, it’s Helios and Morgana who they’re frightened of, who commands them. Not Agravaine, and he’s certainly not worth jumping across a ravine for.

Merlin watches Agravaine scrabble around dispassionately, before raising a hand and beckoning.

All the blood drains from Agravaine’s face when Arthur steps out of the shadows.

“Hello, Uncle,” Arthur says, and draws his sword.

Agravaine’s eyes flit from side to side like a cornered rat. He holds out a hand placatingly, but the other inches towards his sword belt. “Arthur, there’s been a misunderstanding - “

Arthur swings his sword, and Agravaine gasps as he brings his own blade up in time to meet it. “No, there hasn’t.”

Merlin moves back as they circle each other. The clash of swords rings through the night like a warning bell. Arthur’s knuckles are white and his attacks are brutal, relentless. It turns Agravaine wild-eyed, and he spits, “You’re right, there hasn’t. You’re weak, Arthur.”

He spins on his heel, just avoiding Arthur’s parry. “Weak and foolish. All this time I’ve been - “

“I know what you’ve been doing,” Arthur hisses. The bitterness in his voice is enough to make Merlin flinch. “Betraying your _family_, your _nephew_.”

“My family are dead,” Agravaine snaps, forced to retreat as Arthur surges forward. “Your father made sure of that. I couldn’t kill him, but I can kill you - “

It happens in the space between heartbeats. Agravaine, red faced and spitting vitriol, fumbles with his sword. Arthur, ghostly pale and so in tune with his weapon it may as well be part of him, drives his blade through Agravaine’s chest.

Time hangs in the balance, a single, splintering thread. Agravaine gasps, eyes wide in disbelief.

“She never would have forgiven you for this,” Arthur rasps, and wrenches his sword free.

The body falls to the ground with a quiet thump. Arthur turns away from it instantly. He takes a few paces in Merlin’s direction, trembling all over.

“_Arthur_,” Merlin says immediately, grasping his elbow and pulling Arthur to him.

Arthur takes a deep breath, before straightening up. “Not - not now. There’s no _time_.”

“Later,” Merlin promises hoarsely. “I - later.”

Arthur squeezes his wrist so tightly it’s almost painful, but Merlin doesn’t protest. When he lets go, it’s only to grasp Merlin’s hand instead, and to pull him back towards the castle.

-

They use the siege tunnels to get back into the heart of the citadel. The front gates aren’t exactly an option, not with the sounds of Morgana’s army right outside. It only gets louder as they slip into the courtyard, the air littered with shouts and the clatter of swords.

It can have only just begun, because Leon is dispersing the last of their soldiers. He doesn’t hide the relief on his face when he spots them. “Arthur!”

“When did it begin?” Arthur demands, any hint of vulnerability wiped from him. His shoulders are set and his profile could be carved from marble, the straight line of his jaw and his proud mouth. “Is she here?”

“The first half of her army are outside the gates. They’ve only just arrived, we’ve sent the first troops out to meet them.” Leon grimaces. “No sign of Morgana, but we have a problem - “

“Merlin!” Gwaine exclaims, rushing over to him. “Is it - is it done?”

“It’s done,” Arthur interrupts. “They can’t get in through the siege tunnels, but that only means the second half of Helios’ army will be on their way here instead.”

Gwaine clasps a hand to Merlin’s shoulder, clumsy and hurried. He slings Merlin’s bow and quiver off his back and holds them out for Merlin to take.

There’s a large bang from above them, and Leon swears. “Arthur, that’s what I - EVERYBODY GET DOWN!”

Leon grabs for Arthur, yanking him to the floor. Merlin spins to see a huge shadow overhead, and throws his hands up reactively. The magic is yanked from him, untrained and instinctive. All he knows is that what is up above means to harm them, and his magic forms a glittering shield over the courtyard.

He hears someone gasp, thinks it might be Gwaine, but it’s taking everything in him to keep the shield in place. The creature roars in displeasure, and Merlin doesn’t relax until his magic settles once more.

He drops his hands, taking in a gasping breath. There’s sweat dripping down his temples, but when he glances around no one is hurt. There are a few knights staring at him in shock, and a tiny hysterical part of him realises that his secret is well and truly out.

“What was that?” Percival exclaims, pulling Gwaine to his feet. He staggers over to rub Merlin’s back. “You alright, Merlin?”

“Fine,” Merlin pants, as Arthur makes an outraged noise.

“Where the _hell_ did Morgana get a dragon from?” Arthur shouts.

Leon tugs at his curls. “That’s the problem I was talking about! Merlin, can you do something about the bloody dragon?”

“It’s not a dragon,” Gwaine and Merlin say at the same time. Merlin is still doubled over, so he waves at Gwaine to continue. “It’s a wyvern. I’ve seen them before. Nasty fuckers.”

“I - fine. But how did she get one?”

Mordred shakes his head, pale and shaking. “She’s a High Priestess. It’d be well within her power to bind that creature to her will.”

Arthur grips Merlin’s arm. “Does she know you’re a Dragon Lord?”

Merlin swallows. “I - I don’t know. I think it’s more likely she saw Aithusa and - and wanted to even the playing field.”

“Or she just wanted to cause more hell,” Gwaine spits. “What did you say, Arthur? You bet she has a few nasty surprises in store for us?”

“Either way it’s an issue,” Leon bites out. “It’s causing havoc, attacking our soldiers and damaging the citadel.”

“Leave it to me,” Merlin orders, and the knights all turn to him. “It’s not a dragon, but it’s close enough. Leave it to me.”

“If she’s bound the creature to her with dark magic, you’ll need to break the enchantment,” Mordred urges. “It’s probably out of its mind with pain.”

Merlin shudders, slinging his bow over his chest. “Poor thing.”

“Merlin, darling, now is not the time for sympathy,” Arthur says as nicely as he can, which is not that nice because they’re in the middle of a battle. “Merlin, stop the wyvern. Mordred, cover him. Gwaine and Percival, I need you at the front gates. We have to hold off the army for as long as we can.”

Gwaine and Percival rush off, leaving the four of them. Arthur turns to Leon. “Still no sign of her?”

Leon shakes his head. “No. Nothing. Or Helios either.”

“She’s biding her time,” Merlin says. “She’s here. I can - I can _feel_ it.”

“So can I,” Mordred murmurs. “She’ll send the army in first, put them in the firing line before she steps into the castle. The chaos the wyvern will cause is just a distraction for her to slip in unnoticed. Especially now her plans for the siege tunnels have fallen through.”

Arthur nods tersely. “Stay alert. Leon, we need to go help the others. The front line isn’t going to hold forever.”

Arthur looks at Merlin then, and his eyes are blazing. He grips Merlin by the back of the neck and presses their foreheads together, abrupt and desperate and for far too short a time.

“I’ll find you,” Merlin manages, unsure if it’s a promise or a plea. “Once I’ve dealt with the wyvern, I’ll come find you.”

Arthur makes a small noise at the back of his throat. “Merlin, I can’t - I - look. Don’t hold back, okay?”

Merlin’s chest feels tight and he shakes his head. “I won’t. I - Arthur - “

They both stare at the other helplessly. The noise of the battle is getting louder, Leon hovering anxiously over Arthur’s shoulder.

“I know,” Arthur says desperately, because he does, and knocks their foreheads together one more time. Then he’s gone, running straight towards the fight.

Merlin forces himself to turn around. He sees Mordred waiting and sets his jaw. “Come on. I need to get up high.”

They run towards the steps that lead to the stone walls of the castle. On the way there, a group of Helios’ men break through one of the side entrances. Merlin lifts a hand without thinking, knocking them through the air.

“Stay here,” Merlin orders once they reach the foot of the steps. They’re by the eastern wall, the one that overlooks the front gates and is usually where they position the archers.

“Merlin,” Mordred calls, pulling his sword from its sheath. “Be careful.”

Merlin grins at him. “When am I not?”

Mordred sighs at that, but he looks a little less terrified, which is what Merlin was aiming for. He takes the steps two at a time, breathless once he reaches the top. He can see the battle below so clearly from here, a bird’s eye view.

Arthur’s army is doing well at holding Helios’ men back, but they’re being driven into a bottleneck. It won’t be long until there’s too many of them, at which point Arthur will have to retreat or be crushed, and the battle will continue inside the citadel.

He can hear his biggest problem screeching horribly, but Merlin quickly flicks his fingers, and the group of Helios’ men closest to Arthur are bowled backwards. Satisfied, Merlin turns his full attention to the wyvern.

It’s huge, for a start, far bigger than the ones in the perilous lands. Nowhere near Kilgarah’s size, but more than enough to be a massive pain in Merlin’s arse. Now he’s up high, he can feel Morgana’s enchantment, filling the air like thick, choking smoke. It vibrates through him, a scrape over his spine, the taste of iron at the back of his teeth.

His heart sinks as he takes in the poor creature. It looks feral, thrashing its head back and forth, dive bombing on soldiers and causing utter chaos. Merlin’s Dragon Lord powers will never work. Even if his connection to wyverns wasn’t already tenuous, the wretched thing is far too gone to listen to anything he did say.

A small part of him does have to question if Morgana knows about his powers, if she’d suspected after seeing Aithusa. The wyvern’s distress would be a sure fire way to unsettle him, to throw him off his guard. Or perhaps she just wanted to cause havoc, or needed a backup in case Merlin had brought Aithusa into the battle.

There’s no time to unravel that now, though. Merlin, because it’s worth a try, cups his hands around his mouth and shouts, “Oi! Stop that!”

The wyvern stops what it’s doing, which is good, but immediately shrieks and barrels towards him, which is less good.

Merlin grabs an arrow and notches it. His spell is hurried, but strong, and when he draws his arm back, the arrow is glowing a bright, brilliant blue. The wyvern is flying towards him at full speed now, its teeth a terrifying slash of white against the dark sky.

Merlin has to wait until the wyvern is close enough, and endures seven nerve-wracking seconds where he’s certain the arrow will fall from his shaking fingers. The wyvern is almost upon him, snarling in fury, and Merlin pleads to whoever’s listening, “Please, please let this work,” and lets the arrow fly.

He was never intending to kill it, just break the enchantment. It hits the wyvern straight in the chest. There’s a moment where nothing happens, where Merlin can heart his heartbeat in his ears, and then the enchantment _snaps_.

That’s how Merlin will describe it later; the spell _snapped_, split in half like a tree being felled by an axe, and all the residual magic leftover just explodes. It sends a ripple through the sky, a physical wave that knocks Merlin clean off his feet and over the side of the castle walls.

Every cell of his body is electrified, the pure power so visceral he can see it, a violet wave that sends him flying. He’s distantly aware of the wyvern howling, and his own screaming, before he slams into the ground.

It’s his magic that saves him. Must be, because whilst Merlin is bruised and aching all over, he’s not dead. He meets the stone floor with a sickening crack, all the air punched from his lungs.

Everything goes silent, static. Colours curl around the edges of his vision and there’s blood in his mouth.

He must black out, because when he comes to, everything hurts and someone is shouting at him. “Merlin! Merlin!”

“Fuck,” Merlin groans, and even that hurts. “I - Mordred?”

Mordred is knelt over him, one hand running over Merlin’s body to check for injuries. Merlin jolts when he realises Mordred’s eyes are a burnished gold, and concludes that it probably wasn’t just _his_ magic that saved him from splitting his skull open.

“Are you alright?” Mordred demands frantically. “One moment you were up on the battlements, the next - “

“The wyvern,” Merlin rasps. “Where is it?”

His question is answered by a large clatter to his left. The wyvern is a few feet from them, stumbling around like it’s drunk. It gives a full body shake, as though it’s trying to rid itself of the last vestiges of Morgana’s spell.

When it catches sight of Merlin, it huffs angrily, then lashes its tail. The tail smashes into a tower of crates and sends them flying. The wyvern bounds off without giving them a backwards glance after that, turning a corner and disappearing from view.

“You’re _welcome_!” Merlin yells after it. “What a ungrateful little - “

“Merlin!” Mordred interrupts desperately. “Merlin, are you okay?”

He guides Merlin into a sitting position, looking worried. Merlin rubs at his face and grimaces when his hand comes away wet with blood. “I’m - I’m not sure. I’m not dead?”

“What happened?”

“I only meant to break the enchantment,” Merlin explains, wincing at the pain in his legs. “But it was so powerful, and the wyvern was so angry, it all - well. All that magic had to go somewhere. I just didn’t realise it would be in my direction.”

Mordred is in the middle of inspecting Merlin’s ankle, which is starting to really hurt, but he does a double take at that. “Merlin, are you - are you saying you didn’t know if that was going to work?”

“Er, not exactly?”

Mordred stares at him. “Merlin!”

“What?” Merlin snaps. “I didn’t exactly have time to try it out!”

“Merlin,” Mordred hisses again. “Arthur is going to kill you.”

Merlin tries to struggle to his feet, but he slumps back to the floor within seconds. “Let’s not tell him.”

“I think he’ll have realised by now,” Mordred scowls. “I can’t believe you - “

He freezes mid-sentence, going completely still. Merlin attempts to sit upright. “Mordred, what - “

“She’s here,” Mordred murmurs. “And she’s close.”

Merlin feels fear spark in his stomach, before he quashes it down. “We have to - “

But Mordred is already scrabbling to his feet, his face ashen. Merlin tries weakly to grab for him, but he’s still dizzy and reeling from the fall. He won’t be able to stand properly for at least a few minutes yet. “Mordred, where are you going?”

“I can slow her down,” Mordred says. “At least until you can stand. At least until Arthur gets here.”

“Mordred, no!” Merlin snaps. “You can’t go up against Morgana, are you mad - “

But Mordred is already backing away. He’s pale, but resolute, a look in his eyes that Merlin can’t figure out. “I can buy you both some time. I can do this.”

“Mordred, please - “ Merlin shouts, but Mordred is already running.

He passes under one of the stone arches and then he’s gone. Merlin swears, but his entire body feels bruised and there’s no way he can stop him.

Arthur finds him a few minutes later, as Merlin is just managing to manoeuvre his battered limbs into a crouch. “Merlin! I saw the wyvern fall, we felt the - the explosion.”

Merlin is so relieved to see him he could cry. Arthur’s face is speckled with ash and dirt, blood streaking one cheek. Aside from that he appears mostly uninjured, and he rushes to Merlin’s side. “What happened?”

“Got thrown off the battlements,” Merlin wheezes. “But that’s not the important part, Arthur, I - “

“Not the important part!” Arthur bellows, helping Merlin into a standing position. “What do you mean you were thrown off the battlements?”

“Morgana is here!” Merlin blurts, fisting a hand in Arthur’s armour. “And Mordred’s gone to stop her!”

Arthur gasps. “What? Where did he go?”

“That way.” Merlin gestures. “But - wait, I just need a minute. We have to go together.”

Arthur squeezes him tightly, ducking his head briefly to burrow it in Merlin’s hair. Merlin takes a deep exhale, then nods. “Alright. I’m ready. Let’s go.”

Morgana’s dark magic stains the ground. Following her trail is easy, but then Merlin gets the impression she isn’t trying to hide. They stumble under the arch and back towards the main gates. The fighting has spilled into the citadel now and they duck past several groups of fighting men. His heart squeezes when he sees Gwaine, and a moment later Leon, leading a charge against Helios’ army.

“The troops from Nemeth are here!” Arthur yells in his ear. “They’re going to flank the enemy army from behind!”

He shoves Merlin behind him as a rogue soldier spots them and runs forward. Arthur slams his sword into the man’s helmet and he crumples to the floor. “Which way now?”

“This way,” Merlin says, grabbing Arthur’s hand and dragging him forward. “And the head? _Really_? Are you showing off?”

“No,” Arthur says indignantly. “We are in the _middle_ of a _war_.”

Merlin just rolls his eyes and blasts one of the enemy canons to pieces with a wave of his hand.

They’re getting further and further from the main fighting, to a more secluded part of the castle grounds. Merlin stumbles to a halt a few minutes later, hand flying out to stop Arthur running forward. “This is it.”

Arthur surprises him by saying grimly, “I know.”

Merlin blinks at him and Arthur rubs a hand over his mouth. “I can feel it, too.”

“Together,” Merlin offers quietly, and Arthur nods once.

“Together.”

They burst around the corner, Arthur’s sword drawn and Merlin’s hands outstretched. The sight waiting for them turns Merlin’s stomach.

The trail has led them to a stone courtyard. Morgana is holding court in the centre, a man that Merlin assumes must be Helios standing by her side. He is tall and strong, and he has his sword to Mordred’s throat.

“_Mordred_!” Arthur yells.

Helios’ grip on Mordred tightens, sword drawing closer. The meaning is implicitly clear, and both Arthur and Merlin fall silent, frozen in place.

“It’s good to see you again, Merlin.” Morgana tilts her head to one side. “And Arthur, of course. You two are never far from each other’s side.”

“Let him go, Morgana,” Merlin spits. “He’s got nothing to do with this.”

Helios snorts. He has one arm wrapped around Mordred’s chest, the other holding the sword against his throat. “No chance.”

“He’s got everything to do with this,” Morgana hisses. “You didn’t really think I’d face you without any leverage.”

There’s something wrong with Mordred, Merlin notes distantly. He’s hanging limp in Helios’ arms, head bowed. There’s something wrong with the picture - well, something more wrong - but he’s so panicked he can’t work it out immediately.

“What do you mean leverage?” Arthur asks coldly. “He’s just a boy, Morgana. This is between you and I. Let him go.”

Morgana laughs, the sound eerie and echoing around the walls. “Oh, he has everything to do with this. And he may be just a boy, but you’re not, are you? _Emrys_?”

Merlin flinches and Morgana laughs again. “I’ll admit, I had my suspicions after our little meeting went awry. But Agravaine was the one who convinced me. Who else could the legends be referring to?”

Morgana walks over to Helios. She grips Mordred’s chin but he doesn’t move. “Magic at the heart of Camelot, someone always by the King’s side. Not to mention it’d explain all the times you’d tried to kill me before.”

Merlin glares at her. “Because you were murdering innocent people. You chose your part in this, but Mordred hasn’t - “

“Oh, he’s a pawn in this as much as I am,” Morgana snaps, her tone suddenly brittle. “And I’ll do no harm to him, not as long as you do what I say.”

Arthur shakes his head. “Which is what? Hand Camelot over to you? Do you honestly believe - “

“I believe you’ll do anything for those you care about,” Morgana says, no longer brittle but terrifyingly calm. “You’re predictable, Emrys. You’re weak. I was going to take Arthur originally, I know how much you’d do for him. Or one of your precious knights. Gwaine, maybe, or Leon. Such a bleeding heart. And then Mordred stumbled upon us all of his own.”

It’s his magic. Mordred’s magic should have been more than enough to fight off Helios, would have given him a chance against Morgana, too. _Why isn’t he using his magic?_

“What have you done to him?” Merlin demands abruptly. Arthur shoots him a startled look.

Morgana narrows her eyes. “I haven’t done anything. These, on the other hand.”

She grabs one of Mordred’s wrists, yanking it upright. Mordred groans weakly, but doesn’t open his eyes. Clamped around his wrist is a thick, iron cuff. Merlin catches one look at it and feels bile rise in the throat.

“Take them off him,” he orders. “_Now_.”

Morgana’s face twists into an ugly sneer. “I don’t think so. It’s enchanted iron. As long as he’s wearing them, his magic is useless. He couldn’t use it if he tried.”

“And he tried,” Helios drawls.

“I’m going to kill you,” Merlin tells him softly, and feels something in him bare bloodied teeth when Helios can’t quite hide his flinch.

“Perhaps,” Morgana says idly, dropping Mordred’s chin and pushing it away roughly. “Perhaps you’ll even succeed. But can your magic get to him before Helios slits his throat? If my magic doesn’t get there first? And if you do get to Mordred before I do, who's to say I don’t slit Arthur’s throat whilst you’re busy?”

Dread wraps around his chest and threatens to choke him. Because Morgana is right. There’s no guarantee that Merlin will get to Mordred in time, not when he’s going up against her as well, and not if either Helios or Morgana decide to make a go at Arthur whilst he’s busy.

It’s Arthur who breaks the silence. “What happened to you, Morgana?”

She’s clearly not expecting the question, because Morgana stares at him with wild eyes. “Our father happened to me, and all his years of - “

“Yes,” Arthur cuts in. “Our father. But I am not my father.”

Morgana curls her hand into a fist. “Maybe not, but you’re not so different - “

“And you are?” Arthur laughs, though there’s no humour in it. “Killing innocent people, torturing others - “

“_Enough_!” Morgana shrieks. It’s frightening, how quick her moods change, how tenuous her grip is. “I don’t have to listen to you. Another word and I’ll cut his throat - “

“Yes, you’ve said,” Arthur interrupts. “Though you haven’t yet.”

“You think I won’t?” Morgana demands.

“No,” Arthur says wearily. “I think you would. But you haven’t yet, which means you want something. What is it you want?”

Morgana looks furious, at Arthur’s calm demeanour or the interruptions, Merlin isn’t sure. She grabs Mordred’s wrist, yanking it upright so they can all see the iron band. “You want the cuff removed? I’ll do it. But only if it goes on his arm instead.”

She casts a hand in Merlin’s direction, as if there was any doubt of who she’s referring to. Arthur stiffens beside him, even as Merlin’s veins turn to ice.

“No,” Arthur says automatically. “You must be - “

“You don’t have a choice!” Morgana screams. “Enough of this. Helios!”

“No!” Merlin yells, but Helios is already drawing his blade across Mordred’s stomach. The cut immediately begins to bleed, and Mordred lets out a low groan. Helios returns the sword to its original position against Mordred’s throat, shining crimson.

“You have no choice!” Morgana snarls for a second time. “No choice, and no way out, now - “

“Stop!” Merlin screams. “I’ll do it just - just stop!”

“Merlin, no,” Arthur gasps, but Merlin is already walking forwards. “Merlin, you can’t!”

“What else can I do?” Merlin bursts out, turning back to stare at him. “She’ll kill Mordred if I don’t!”

Arthur is deathly pale. “She means to kill us all anyway!”

“I can’t let her kill him!”

Morgana’s eyes are gleeful as she watches them argue. Arthur looks wretched, one hand reaching for his sword. Merlin looks him in the eye, and says very deliberately, “Your sword is useless, Arthur. You may as well _throw it away.”_

Arthur’s eyes widen fractionally, before he pleads, “Merlin, please don’t do this.”

Merlin hunches his shoulders. “I have no choice.”

He turns back to Morgana, continuing his slow walk over to her. Morgana jolts at every step, gaze flickering to Helios and back like a snake. Once Merlin is close enough, she holds up a hand. “Stop. Hold out your wrists.”

Merlin glares at her, but dutifully holds his hands out. Morgana smirks. “Not so high and might now, are we? Don’t try anything or Mordred dies.”

“What’s your plan then?” Merlin murmurs. “Once you’ve cuffed me, once you’ve won.”

“Oh, I have lots planned for you,” Morgana scoffs, walking slowly over to Mordred. “Arthur, too. I’ll spare Mordred, though. I wasn’t lying when I said he wouldn’t be hurt if you’d do as I say.”

“He’s already hurt,” Merlin points out, and Morgana bares her teeth at him. The comment clearly rattles her, her magic crackling in the atmosphere in anger.

“Because of you. I’m sure he’ll come around eventually, after he realises the truth about the great Arthur Pendragon.” For a moment, Morgana appears lost in thought. “I’ll make him see.”

She shakes her head a second later, grasping the cuff. Her eyes burn gold and it falls into her hand with a clink. Mordred’s entire body sags, and Helios adjusts his weight to compensate for how limp he goes.

“And then what?” Merlin says, eyes fixed on Mordred. “When it’s all over. You take over Camelot?”

Morgana stalks back over to him, fingers white on the iron. “Then I rule as I was always meant to. Don’t move.”

Her fingers circle his arm, shoving his sleeve up roughly. Merlin clears his throat. “What about Helios?”

Morgana frowns, obviously taken off guard. “What about - Helios has been a trusted ally. I will see he’s rewarded - “

“No,” Merlin interrupts. “What are you going to do about his wrist?”

“Stop trying to delay the inevitable,” Morgana says, irritation clear in her voice. “There’s nothing wrong with his wrist - “

“It’s broken,” Merlin advises her calmly.

“It’s not,” Helios begins, and then there’s a loud crack.

“No!” Morgana shouts, but it’s too late.

Helios screams, clutching his broken wrist. His sword clatters to the floor, as does Mordred, landing in a heap as the warlord stumbles backward. At the same time, Merlin’s magic shoves Morgana away from him, throwing her through the air.

Arthur runs over to Mordred. Helios makes a half-hearted effort to stop him, but Arthur slashes him across the chest and he tumbles to the ground, lying still. Merlin watches Arthur crouch over Mordred, heart pounding, but then he’s being picked up himself and hurtled into the brick wall.

He barely has time to blink before Morgana is on him, screaming in his face as her magic squeezes around his neck. “I’m going to kill you!”

Merlin kicks at her, feet scrabbling against the stone. Morgana’s magic drags him upright, pinning him against the wall. “Enough, Morgana! It’s over!”

Any control she may have had is gone; her magic is pure, unbridled chaos, and it turns the air around them acrid. “Never!”

“Morgana, _stop_!”

The raspy voice makes them both freeze. Merlin twists his head, gasping at what he sees.

Mordred has one hand pressed to his stomach, wan and pale, but resolute. He’s resting against Arthur’s shoulder, panting heavily.

“You’d strike one of your own?” Mordred asks, voice cracking. “Look around you, Morgana. Emrys has brought magic back to this land. He, ah.” He shudders, pain crossing his face.

Morgana is frozen in front of him, transfixed. Mordred heaves a breath. “You are blinded by your hatred and rage. If you’d look around you’d see the peace he has brought. I wish you could see that, that you could - “

He breaks off, and Merlin realises that Mordred is crying. Arthur’s hand is pressed firmly over the one holding his stomach wound, Mordred clearly too weak to apply pressure.

“I will never join your side,” Mordred cries. “Even if you kill Emrys, even if you kill Arthur Pendragon. I have a choice and I - I will not choose a world of such hatred and destruction.”

The finality of his words ring through the space between them. Merlin sees each of them hit Morgana in slow motion, each one an arrow burrowing into his skin.

“Then you’ll die as well,” Morgana whispers finally, voice thick with hatred, and draws her hand back.

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts, and there’s a hiss as he throws something through the air.

The sword hilt lands in Merlin’s outstretched palm like it’s always been there. It burns in his grasp, and Merlin draws his arm back and drives it into Morgana's stomach.

“No,” he chokes. “You’re not going to kill anyone ever again.”

The magic pinning him in place shatters. Merlin collapses to the floor, hand still gripping Excalibur as he stumbles backwards. Morgana’s body falls to the floor and that thought - Morgana’s body - is too much for him.

“Merlin,” Arthur calls hoarsely, and Merlin’s head snaps to his, like the moon commanding the tides. “Merlin, come - come here.”

Merlin goes to him, his feet moving before his mind has already made the decision. Mordred is slumped against Arthur’s side, his breathing shallow. Arthur’s eyes are red, and Merlin sinks down beside him, hiding his face in the crook of Arthur’s neck.

Around them, the world is quiet. The shouts of the army are dying down, drifting further and further away.

“It’s over,” Merlin murmurs. “It’s - it’s over.”

Arthur hand cups the back of his neck, gently encouraging him to look at him. Merlin does look then, at his King, at his _heart_, and feels a tear spill over and travel down his bloodied cheek.

Gingerly, they stand. Merlin helps support Mordred, one arm slung over his shoulder to share the weight. Mordred is completely silent, his hand pressed tightly to his stomach.

Arthur gently untangles himself from Merlin’s side. With trembling hands, he unclasps the cloak around his neck. Then he walks over to his sister and carefully covers her still body. He hesitates once he’s done, and Merlin can see his lips moving, thinks maybe he reads the words _I’m sorry._

When Arthur turns away, his shoulders are lighter. His eyes meet Merlin’s, his lashes wet and thick against his cheeks.

“It’s over,” he agrees quietly.

Merlin just holds out a hand and, as always, Arthur returns to him. As a group, they stagger away.

In the distance, the battle is finally ending. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i finished writing this twenty minutes ago meaning i finished crying about it twenty five minutes ago. it's not the first time i've cried writing this story but it's definitely the most intense chapter i've written. 
> 
> as a result i don't really have much to say cause i'm still feeling emotional, except that merlin, arthur, mordred are all so young and their lives have been so painful and hard and i can't remember the exact quote, but no one wins a war. not really. everyone loses something. and in the end you don't win, you just survive and then hope to build something better 
> 
> had a lot of feelings for mordred in this one and thought a lot about how it must have been for him to see morgana change from the kind person he knew as a child. i've spoken about it before but the scene where he confronts her at the lake is just... everything. he is so good. 
> 
> had a lot of feelings about morgana too. she was never going to get a redemption arc - s3 and s4 morgana is too gone for me, though s2 morgana has potential. still. lots of feelings. bit of a theme here.
> 
> mordred/merlin/arthur is not a thing in this however i cannot deny i have a lot of feelings about arthur's hand pressed over mordred's whilst mordred is gravely injured.... bitch this is the most self indlugent thing you've ever WRITTEN
> 
> love to hear your thoughts. love to everyone who reads this and comments and leaves kudos. love to sleep which is what i'm going to try and do now.


	27. Chapter 27

He doesn’t have the capacity to feel anything but exhaustion in the aftermath.

Which is probably for the best. There’s this awful, numb feeling in his chest, this distant pressure on his ribcage as if all the pain and fear and loss is trying to drown him, drag him under.

Merlin won’t let it. Can’t let it. His injuries offer a welcome distraction; there isn’t an inch of his body that isn’t cut or bruised. His ears are still ringing from being thrown against solid stone. The scrapes and stings cut through the fog in his head somewhat.

Gwaine makes an anguished noise the moment he spots them. He doesn’t care that Merlin is covered in blood. He doesn’t care that Merlin is dirty or dishevelled. He just drags him in for a hug and doesn’t let go.

“Thank fuck,” Gwaine breathes into his ear. “No one could find you, I had no idea if she’d - where you’d - “

Besides them, Leon and Arthur are embracing, holding each other tightly. Leon breaks away, still gripping Arthur’s shoulder and shaking it gently, his eyes wet. His gaze flits to Mordred, and then he’s grabbing him roughly, hugging Mordred, too.

Mordred lets out a surprised whine, the first noise he’s made since what happened. His shoulders slump and he clings to Leon like a little child, Leon’s hand spanning his back as he takes Mordred’s weight.

Gwaine pulls back, one hand still fisted in Merlin’s tunic, gaze locked on Mordred over Merlin’s shoulder . “Is he alright?”

“Are any of us?” Merlin asks hoarsely, and Gwaine’s face falls. “Where’s - where’s Percival? Is he alright?”

“He’s fine,” Gwaine says quickly. “Most of Helios’ army have been defeated, but some of them have fled back towards the hills. Percival is leading a hundred men or so after them, to drive the point home. He’s fine, he - he was fine, last I saw him.”

Arthur takes control immediately, gathering everyone together and then giving out orders. He directs his people effortlessly. Merlin, who feels as though he is one crack away from shattering completely, is immeasurably comforted by the way Arthur rights the world around them.

The wounded are taken to Gaius, the dead moved to the side to be buried later. The knights are split into shifts, some sent to rest now so they can take over in the morning. Those who remain clear up what they can of the rubble and destruction caused by the army and the wyvern.

Mordred is hurried into the castle by Leon, Merlin trailing after them. He’s immediately whisked away by Gaius, who turns pale at the sight of Mordred’s bloodied armour.

One of the serving girls attends to Merlin, leading him over to a bench and carefully removing his tunic to see the damage underneath.

Merlin lets her, unfocused and pliant, his ears still ringing. He’s not sure how much time has passed when he asks, “What’s your name?”

The woman looks surprised, but replies steadily, “Anna. I usually help the women in the lower town with their ailments, but - well. It’s all hands on deck, isn’t it?”

“Just a little,” Merlin rasps, wincing as she drags a wet cloth over his ribs.

Anna’s voice is quiet, but her hands are gentle as she says hesitantly, “They’re saying out there you fought a dragon.”

Merlin swallows. Around them, the room is in chaos, groans of pain, shouts and screams, Gaius barking orders. More knights are being brought in, a constant stream of people as servants run for more bandages or water.

Anna can’t be much older than him, with dark hair pulled back from her face and calloused hands. Merlin thinks he might vaguely recognise her, that maybe he’s seen her helping Gaius with pregnancies in the lower town.

They don’t know each other. Not really. But this stranger knows he has magic and Merlin realises in that moment this is it now. There’s no more hiding, no more secrecy. Everybody knows, and that really means everybody, from the man who shares his bed to strangers he’s never spoken to.

“It - it wasn’t a very big dragon,” Merlin manages.

He hadn’t realised how tense he was until Anna smiles at him, a little uncertain but determined in spite of it. “The castle wouldn’t be standing if it weren’t for you.”

He ducks his head to hide the stinging in his eyes. Anna doesn’t say anything else, perhaps sensing how overwhelmed he feels. She cleans the rest of his cuts and wraps his ribs, which are heavily bruised and a hair's breadth away from being broken. His hair is damp from where she’d wiped away the blood before it could matt.

Once she’s finished, Anna carefully curls a hand around his elbow and helps him to his feet. “Come on. Sir Leon told me - “

Merlin shakes his head, which was a bad idea because now he wants to vomit. “I should go help Gaius, I can - “

But then Leon is there, out of his armour and with a bandage around his forearm. “You need rest, Merlin.”

“But I can still help!” Merlin protests, trying not to lean all of his weight on Leon and failing miserably.

Leon smiles tiredly, leading him out of the room. “Merlin, you’ve more than helped, you saved the entire citadel.”

“It really was just a small dragon,” Merlin mumbles, and Leon lets out an exhale that would probably qualify for a laugh if he wasn’t so weary.

Merlin doesn’t object any further when he realises Leon is taking him to Arthur’s chambers. Arthur is shirtless when they arrive, but his armour lays scattered on the floor, so he can’t have been there long.

“Leon,” Arthur says hoarsely, but his eyes are fixed on Merlin. “Are they - “

“Everyone who was wounded is being tended to,” Leon says immediately. “Percival has returned, the rest of the forces are either dead or have fled well beyond the borders. The entrances into the citadel are protected.”

There’s a bath already drawn. Merlin can see the steam curling in the air, and his muscles ache in response.

“Thank you, Leon,” Arthur says quietly. “Get some rest.”

Leon carefully unwraps his arm from Merlin’s waist and steadies him when he wavers. “You too. Both of you.”

Merlin squeezes Leon’s wrist in a silent thank you before he leaves. Arthur walks over to him, feet dragging across the stone. Merlin sinks into Arthur’s arms, burrowing his face into his neck and revelling in the smell of him, the feel of Arthur’s body, the fact they’re both here and alive and breathing.

Eventually, Merlin mumbles, “Everyone knows I fought a wyvern.”

Arthur yawns widely. “Well, you were a bit obvious about it.”

“Shut up,” Merlin mutters, tightening his grip on Arthur’s waist. “Are you alright?”

Arthur swallows. “I - no.”

Merlin draws back. He lifts his hands to cup Arthur’s face, tracing the cut of his cheekbones and trying to ignore the way his fingers tremble.

“I don’t think I am either,” Merlin admits quietly.

Arthur rests their foreheads together, eyes closed. “You’re not meant to be.”

Merlin breathes out. “That’s okay then.”

“Let’s sleep while we can,” Arthur mumbles, linking their fingers together, before pausing. “Wait, the bath.”

Merlin gives him a shove to get moving. “Arthur, I am a sorcerer.”

“Oh, right.”

They fall into bed, clumsily stripping their clothes off. Merlin sighs when he realises he’ll have to sleep on his back; his chest is too badly bruised to sleep on his side like usual. Arthur quietly fusses with the pillows, until Merlin is propped up and settled. He draws the covers over them, then curls his fingers around Merlin’s bicep.

“I’m leaving the candles lit,” Merlin whispers. He doesn’t want to sleep in darkness tonight.

Arthur gazes at him. “Whatever you want.”

Merlin swallows. There’s an odd, unsettled feeling in his stomach. “I hate sleeping on my back.”

Arthur props himself up on one elbow. “I know, sweetheart.”

Merlin blinks a few times, not meeting Arthur’s gaze. He feels like a little child, talking about anything and everything in an attempt to delay the inevitable. “Are you hurt?”

“A little,” Arthur admits. “My side. And my lower back. I’m not - I’m not sure how long I was fighting for, before I came to find you.”

Merlin stares up at the ceiling. Arthur shuffles closer to him, resting his forehead against Merlin’s bare shoulder. He can’t throw his arm over Merlin’s stomach like he usually does, so he settles for linking their hands together. “Try to get some sleep.”

“Don’t go anywhere,” Merlin blurts.

Arthur tightens his grip on Merlin’s hand. “I’m not going anywhere.”

-

His ribs feel like they’ve been set on fire the next morning.

Merlin gasps awake, flinching at the way pain rockets through his chest. “I - _fuck_.”

Arthur scrabbles upright beside him, eyes wide. “Merl? What is it?”

“That bastard wyvern,” Merlin manages through gritted teeth. “It wasn’t even fucking grateful, and now my - ah - my ribs are killing me.”

“Are they broken?”

“No.” Merlin pauses. “I mean. I don’t think so? They really _hurt_, Arthur.”

He slumps forward, Arthur’s arm coming up to cradle him as Merlin rests his head against Arthur’s chest. He makes a truly pitiful sound, but can’t bring himself to care when his ribs feel like they’ve been mangled. Clearly the adrenaline has well and truly worn off, because he can feel _everything_ now and it’s _awful_.

“Let’s get you into the bath,” Arthur says gently. “The hot water will help.”

He slings an arm around Merlin’s shoulders. Together they stumble over to the tub. Arthur pulls a face when he dips a finger into the water, no doubt freezing after being in there all night.

He turns to Merlin, a funny look in his eyes. “Well, only one of us is the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the earth, so - “

“Oh, shut up,” Merlin snaps, and Arthur laughs when the water immediately begins to steam.

They clamber into the tub. Merlin groans at how good it feels, sinking down until his shoulders are below the surface. Arthur sighs, tilting his head back as his eyelashes flutter closed.

There’s soft light filtering in through the gaps in the shutters. “It’s just after dawn,” Merlin realises softly. “So we’ve been asleep for - five or six hours?”

Arthur hums. “Probably closer to six. You can tell from which birds are awake outside.”

It simultaneously feels like more and less.

Cautiously, Merlin reaches for the bar of soap. It’s rose scented and that, the sweet smell, along with the water lapping against the side, helps ground him. You’re here, Merlin tells himself fiercely, wincing as he scrubs over his bruises. You’re still here.

Arthur draws his knees to his chest. He rests his chin on them, eyes fixed on something Merlin can’t see.

Merlin ignores the flicker of fear in his stomach, and clears his throat. “Right. Your turn.”

Arthur flinches so violently that water spills over the side of the tub. It’s so sudden that Merlin drops the soap.

“I - what?” Arthur rasps, looking completely mortified.

Merlin stammers, stomach clenching. “I just - I only - “

Arthur is still staring at him, pale and shaking. He has absolutely no idea what to do, so he stops thinking and acts instinctively. Merlin grabs him, pulling Arthur into a tight embrace,

Arthur goes completely rigid, and for one terrifying moment Merlin thinks he’s lost him forever, that Arthur has gone too far from his reach. But a heartbeat later, Arthur’s arms are curling around his neck.

“I keep seeing her face,” Arthur rasps, and Merlin shudders involuntarily. “I can’t - “

He breaks off with a gasp. Merlin clings to him desperately, rubbing circles over the damp skin of Arthur’s back. “It’s alright, Arthur. It’s - it’s - I’m here.”

They stay like that until Arthur stops trembling. His fingernails are cutting into Merlin’s skin, but he doesn’t say anything. He’s sure his own hands must be bruising Arthur’s hips with how desperate his grip is.

Eventually, Arthur draws a shaky breath and pulls away. “I - thank you.”

“For what?” Merlin chides gently. Impulsively, he ducks forward to brush his lips against Arthur’s. “I’m a mess, Arthur. You’re a mess, too. Everything that just - all we’ve been through, I’d be more worried if we weren’t both in pieces.”

Arthur laughs wetly. “When did you get so wise?”

“I have been telling you from the beginning,” Merlin teases, and is rewarded by a genuine smile. He swallows, resting a hand on Arthur’s knee. “But seriously, she was - she was your _sister_, Arthur.”

Arthur shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter, what she did - “

“Doesn’t take away from that fact,” Merlin says quietly. “Or what she was like before, who she - who she could be.” He hesitates. “I think - I think that makes it worse.”

“She never would have stopped.” Arthur’s voice is perfectly blank, but there are tears filling his eyes. “Even with - even with all the changes we’ve made. She never would have stopped.”

Merlin swallows. “No, I - no. I don’t think she would have.”

Arthur takes one of his hands, flipping it over and tracing the lines of Merlin’s palm. He looks up at him from under thick lashes, reading Merlin as easily as a favourite volume. “What about you?”

Merlin shrugs helplessly. “I don’t know.” He looks down at where Arthur’s finger is following the curve towards his thumb. “I - I’m glad we’re both alive. When I - when I think about what happened, I just try to remember that.”

“Wounds heal over time,” Arthur murmurs. He bends his head to brush a kiss over Merlin’s palm. “Even ones as deep as ours.”

They stay in the water until it turns cold. Merlin could easily heat it again, but he doesn’t. He takes Arthur’s outstretched hand instead and climbs out. They dress slowly. Arthur helps Merlin wrap fresh bandages around his chest, and quirks his lip when Merlin pulls on a red tunic that is very obviously Arthur’s.

“I’ll need to make an announcement,” Arthur says, straightening his cuffs. There are lilac bruises under his eyes; tiredness makes his skin paler than usual. “Let the people know they’re safe.”

Merlin nods. “And I want to go see Mordred.”

Arthur curses under his breath. “Do you think he’s alright? What about his magic?”

“The cuffs only worked when he was wearing them.” He blanches. “At least, I hope so. I’ve never seen cuffs like that before, though I’ve read about them.”

“I need to meet with the knights. Thank those who came from Nemeth.” Arthur rubs at his forehead. “At least we know Princess Mithian holds up her end of a bargain.”

“She’s well liked by her people,” Merlin comments, steadying himself on the bedpost as he pulls on his boot. “Very fair and just, apparently.”

Arthur tilts his head to one side. “How do you know that?”

“Well, I am the greatest sorcerer to work the earth,” Merlin says seriously, and Arthur snorts.

They smile at each, caught in the normalcy of the moment, before reality sets back in. Merlin can see the moment Arthur is reminded of it, the shadow that passes over him and drapes heavy around his shoulders.

Merlin feels it, too; the heavy drag of grief and loss and pain that sinks into your bones. He’s so tired, and it’s not the kind of tired that goes away because he’s had some sleep and a warm bath.

“Walk me to the infirmary?” Merlin asks, because he doesn’t know how to put that into words.

Perhaps he doesn’t have to, however, because Arthur smiles sadly and takes his hand.

They get a lot of looks as they make their way through the castle. The corridors are bustling, as it always is after a battle. Everyone has to help out in the aftermath, meaning a lot of the usual servants are helping tend to the wounded or clearing the debris away.

At first, Merlin just assumes they’re looking at Arthur. There’s several curtsies and bows. A few even summon the courage to say a hurried thank you, cheeks pink and eyes wide.

“Did you do something?” Merlin asks eventually, after the kitchen maid has just tripped over in her haste to express her gratitude. “The servants are never usually this nervous around you.”

It’s true; whilst most of them show a lot more proprietary than Merlin - which isn’t hard, because Merlin shows precisely zero - Arthur is liked as a King. He knows the names of all the staff, he is frequently seen around the lower town and speaking with his people. There’s no getting away from the fact he wears a crown, but a lot of these people saw Arthur grow from a tousled hair little boy to the man he is today.

Arthur gives him an odd look. “What?”

Merlin cranes his head to look behind him, blinking when he realises the kitchen maid is watching them walk away. She squeaks when she meets his gaze, nearly tripping again as she hurries off. “Everyone’s acting so - weird.”

Arthur stares at him. “Merlin, did that fall from the wall knock your brain loose?”

Merlin abruptly stops, yanking his hand free. “Arthur!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. He tries to take Merlin’s hand back, but Merlin crosses his arms so he can’t. “Merlin. It’s not _me_ they’re nervous about.”

Merlin blinks at him. “Yes, it is.”

Arthur grins, so sudden and so bright that Merlin’s heart jolts in his chest. “Well, maybe, but not just me.”

“They were all thanking you,” Merlin insists. “And bowing and stuff. But everyone always does that anyway, I don’t get why today they’re being all - weird about it.”

“Merlin. They’re thanking _you_.”

Merlin stares at Arthur. “What - no, they’re not.”

“Yes, they are. They know what you did.”

“That is - no - “

Arthur sounds very calm and rational about the whole thing, which is decidedly the opposite of how Merlin is feeling. He gestures towards a woman carrying a basket of laundry, who is walking in their direction. “Fine. We’ll see.”

“We won’t,” Merlin says indignantly.

The woman’s eyes go wide the moment she spots them. “Begging your pardon, my Lords, but I just wanted to say thank you. I live with my little sister and she was so frightened, but I can tell her now Camelot is safe.”

“Thank you, Elodie,” Arthur smiles. “But I was only doing my duty as King. And Merlin, too, of course.”

Merlin elbows Arthur in the ribs. “Oh, I’m sure Elodie was only thanking you, Arthur - “

“No,” Elodie interrupts, beaming at Merlin. “I was thanking you both. Everyone heard how you wrestled two dragons, Lord Merlin - “

“_Lord Merlin!_”

Arthur, the bastard, is shaking with suppressed amusement. “Yes, we’re all very grateful to Lord Merlin. To wrestle just one dragon would be enough, but two - “

“Shut up!” Merlin hisses, shoving in front of him. “Elodie, really, I - “

“Oh, I’m sure Elodie is very busy,” Arthur interrupts, not looking at all cowed by the glare Merlin is sending his way. “But I’m glad you and your sister are well.”

Clearly Elodie isn’t that bloody busy, because there is a lot more curtsying and rambling before she lets them be. The moment she’s disappeared, Merlin whirls on Arthur. “Lord Merlin?”

“You didn’t tell me you wrestled two dragons,” Arthur says, perfectly deadpan, and grins when Merlin smacks his arm. “There’s no honesty in this relationship - “

“This cannot be happening!” Merlin snaps. “I’m just - I’m not - “

Arthur sighs and shoves him against a wall, one hand braced by Merlin’s head, the other dropping to his hip. “Not what? The saviour of Camelot? The man who single handedly defeated a wyvern and saved us all?”

Merlin squirms. “You’re taking it out of context.”

“You’re taking it out of context,” Arthur mimics. He sounds light hearted for the first time, something warm growing in his eyes. “How can that be, when that’s exactly what happened?”

Merlin peers at him. “You’re enjoying this. No, no, you - you like this!”

Arthur shrugs unapologetically. Merlin gasps, unconsciously leaning back so Arthur can draw closer into his space. “You like everyone thanking me and - and knowing I saved the kingdom!”

Arthur grins. He leans forward and kisses the underside of Merlin’s jaw. “I do. I like everyone knowing what you’ve done for Camelot, for all of us. I like you getting the respect you deserve.”

“That’s a really pathetic kink,” Merlin tells him flatly, because he cannot say: I feel like an entire flock of butterflies has taken flight in my chest.

Arthur shrugs again. “I suppose that’s my cross to bear. Can I hold your hand now?”

“_Pathetic_,” Merlin spits, and lets Arthur hold his hand all the way to the infirmary.

They sober up a bit once they get there. From what Merlin can see, they’ve been lucky; had he not taken that wyvern out sooner, there would be a lot more injured, likely dead. Gaius is washing his hands in a bowl, but hurries over as soon as they walk through the door.

“Merlin!” He pulls Merlin into a gentle hug, no doubt mindful of his ribs. “Let me look at you. How are you feeling this morning?”

“My ribs hurt,” Merlin admits. “I don’t think they’re broken, but they’re an inch from it.”

“Merlin got thrown off the battlements,” Arthur says to Gaius.

“Merlin!” Gaius exclaims. “Is that true?”

“Why would you tell him that?” Merlin snaps. “You’re such a snitch!”

“Well, he’ll find out about you wrestling the wyverns soon enough - “

Gaius’ eyebrows climb up into his hairline. “Merlin, I hope you haven’t been - “

“I haven’t been wrestling dragons!” Merlin yells. “Arthur, you’re on thin ice today.”

“Sorry,” Arthur says, not sounding at all apologetic. “I have to go check on my men. I can’t see Mordred in here, though?”

Gaius sighs. “He’s in my chambers. I thought he’d appreciate the privacy.”

“I’ll go to him,” Merlin says immediately. “Is he - how is he?”

Gaius’ pause isn’t reassuring. “His physical injuries will heal. But as for what he’s been through, well. That will take time. As it will for all of us.”

“The cut on his stomach?” Arthur asks worriedly.

“Will heal,” Gaius repeats reassuringly. “Leon has already been in to visit him today. I am sure he would be relieved to see the both of you.”

Arthur nods, but Merlin squeezes his hand. “Arthur, you need to speak to the knights first. Especially those from Nemeth. I’ll check on Mordred and you can join us later.”

Frustration flickers over Arthur’s face, but he nods wearily. “You’re right. I’ll see you soon.”

He kisses Merlin briefly, before walking over to the nearest wounded man and taking a seat by his bed. Gaius is watching Merlin carefully, and he puts a hand on his shoulder. “Once you’ve seen Mordred, come back here and I’ll check your bandages for you.”

“I will,” Merlin promises, and Gaius squeezes his shoulder before turning back to his table of supplies.

Mordred is sitting on Gaius’ bed when Merlin pushes the door to his chambers open. He has his knees drawn to his chest, arms crossed and head bowed, dark curls hiding his face. There is a swathe of bandages around his chest. Merlin grimaces when he sees another one wrapped around Mordred’s left wrist.

Mordred doesn’t appear to hear him come in. He doesn’t look up, even when Merlin comes to a stop by the side of the bed. “Morning.”

“Hello, Merlin,” Mordred says softly.

He sounds so young. Merlin clears his throat. “Budge up, then.”

Mordred frowns at him in confusion, before shuffling over to make room for Merlin on the bed. Merlin sits down gingerly beside him. There’s more than enough space; Merlin is pretty slim and Mordred is wiry in the way a person only is when they’ve grown used to food being scarce.

“How is your stomach?” Merlin asks when it becomes clear Mordred isn’t going to talk. “Did Gaius tend to it?”

“He did.” Mordred rests his chin on his knees. “Gaius is a skilled physician.”

“He is,” Merlin agrees. “He’s taught me everything I know.”

Mordred doesn’t answer. Merlin waits a little, before saying tentatively, “We don’t have to talk. Not if you don’t want to.”

Mordred blinks, moving to look at him.

“I just didn’t want you to be alone,” Merlin explains softly.

Mordred turns away sharply. He rubs at his eyes and Merlin realises abruptly that he’s been crying.

“Can we - “ Mordred breaks off, taking a deep breath through his nose. “Can we - I.”

“Can we do what, love?” Merlin asks gently.

_Can we talk like this?_ Mordred replies in his head, shoulders hunched up by his ears. _It’s just - easier._

“Of course,” Merlin says. “Wait - do you want me to reply in my head? Or can I answer out loud?”

The corner of Mordred’s lip turns up very slightly. _You can answer out loud._

“Cool,” Merlin says, then immediately kicks himself for sounding like an idiot.

_My magic._ Even in his mind, Merlin can feel Mordred flinch. _When Morg - when she put the cuff on. I’ve never felt anything like that._

Merlin shudders. “I can’t imagine.”

_It was like my soul had been torn in two._ The thought is stark. _As though - as though a part of me had been ripped away._

Merlin is speechless; he can feel Mordred’s horror, the dread and fear that overwhelmed him the moment the cuff had snapped around his wrist.

_Until then I’d._ Mordred shakes his head, lashes wet. _A small part of me still believed she could be saved._

Mordred looks up, eyes wide as though worried what Merlin is going to say. _I know what she’d done, I only -_

“It’s alright, Mordred,” Merlin reassures him. “She was - she was kind to you as a child. Part of you wanted to believe that some of that goodness was still in her, didn’t it?”

Mordred nods jerkily. _Yes. I knew it was foolish. But I couldn’t help hope._

Merlin looks down at his hands. “Hope is never foolish. There are still times I wish things could have been different. Where I wonder if I could have - prevented what she became. But we make our own choices in life. Our own decisions.”

_She was one of us. She had -_

“ - magic.” Mordred switches to speaking out loud so suddenly, that Merlin isn’t sure he’s even realised he’s doing it. “She was one of us, and she’d still - she’d still take another’s magic from them.”

Mordred’s voice turns pleading. “How could she do that? _How_?”

Merlin wraps an arm around Mordred’s shoulder, and Mordred sags against him, taking deep breaths.

“Not being able to feel my magic.” Mordred shudders, a full body tremble. “That was when I knew. I knew she’d do anything to get what she wanted.”

He sits up again, pulling away from Merlin’s arm. He tips his head back against the wall, one hand falling unconsciously to the bandage on his wrist.

“And now?” Merlin asks urgently. “Has your magic returned now?”

“Yes, my powers returned almost immediately, thank the goddess. Though at the time, I was losing too much blood to truly realise.”

Mordred very nearly smiles at that, and Merlin relaxes an inch.

“Merlin?” Mordred says very quietly. “What happens now?”

Merlin sighs, tipping his head back against the wall. “We rest. Rebuild.” He side eyes Mordred. “You tell me if your chest hurts, instead of suffering in silence - “

“That happened once,” Mordred complains.

Merlin grins at him. After a beat, Mordred smiles back tentatively.

“Honestly, I don’t know what happens next,” Merlin admits. “The future is changed forever, now, isn’t it?”

Mordred nods, because he must be able to feel it, too. The old world had slipped quietly away during the night, and now a new one lies before them.

“It’s going to take time,” Merlin continues. “I know everyone always says that, it’s what you always hear, but it’s true. No wound ever healed in a day.”

Mordred’s hands are wrapped around his legs. Merlin can see how his knuckles are turning white, where his nails dig into the skin. “What will you do with the body?”

Gently, Merlin prises Mordred’s fingers free. “You’ll hurt yourself if you keep doing that.”

Mordred’s hands fall into his lap. He drops his knees and sits cross legged instead. “Oh.”

“She’ll receive a proper burial,” Merlin murmurs. “Arthur will make sure of that.”

“I see.” Mordred twines his hands together. “Do the others know? Leon and Gwaine, I mean. Do they know what happened to me? What I let - “

“Hey.” Merlin elbows him gently. “You didn’t ‘let’ anything happen. You were overpowered, injured. If it wasn’t for you, Morgana would have found me a lot sooner and killed me within seconds. I was helpless. That wyvern knocked me clean off my feet.”

Mordred sniffles. “Did you know it’s still here?”

Merlin frowns. “Who's still here?”

“The wyvern. Leon told me. It’s skulking in one of the courtyards, licking its wound like a - “ Mordred’s brow pinches, searching for the words. “Like a giant, scaly cat.”

“For fuck’s sake,” Merlin mutters. “I’ll go deal with that later then.”

Mordred clears his throat. “It’s alright. I know you must have lots to attend to. You can go.”

He looks lost, uncertain. Merlin thinks about the casualties of war; all the fighting that happens well before anyone draws a sword. All the people who are scarred and burned and wounded, those who slip between the cracks, those who have been suffering for years because of the games the powerful play.

Merlin clears his throat. “No, it’s alright. I have time. Arthur wants to come visit you as well.”

Mordred’s head snaps up at that. “The King? Is he okay?”

“Arthur is fine,” Merlin reassures him. “He has some injuries, as we all do, but nothing grave.”

Mordred exhales. “That is - that is good. I would - it would be reassuring. To see him.”

“He’s just seeing to the knights,” Merlin promises. “And thanking the forces from Nemeth for all their help, ensuring they return back to their kingdom safely. He’ll make a speech later, I imagine. Break the news to the people. Officially, anyway.”

Mordred rubs at his eyes tiredly. “And he’ll lift the magic ban then?”

“I believe so.” Merlin picks at a thread, suddenly tired himself. “There is - there is a great many more things to be done.”

“But we are on the right path,” Mordred utters softly. “We are finally where we need to be.”

“Yes,” Merlin agrees, tears of relief stinging in his eyes. “I believe we finally are.”

He can tell how the words settle into Mordred’s skin. They cover him like a blanket. He falls asleep a few minutes later, still sitting upright. Merlin runs one hand over his head, before tiptoeing from the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short chapter but there's only so much interlude you can write about people being physically and emotionally exhausted. Poor babies.
> 
> Sorry this took so long to update! Honestly I have been a) busier than ever and b) feeling shitty and anxious and this is ... not really a chapter you can write when you're feeling trashy yourself. I am feeling a lot better now - thankfully - and I am also very lucky that - once I got back into writing this - I remember how much I loved it. Thank you past me for deciding to write the self indulgent season 4 au you always dreamed of.
> 
> Arthur is absolutely that 'my husband is a BITCH and I LOVE HIM' meme
> 
> Look Merlin and Arthur are Mordred's adoptive parents and I will fight you for merlin's right to call Mordred 'love' thank you for coming to my ted talk 
> 
> anyway lots of love to everyone whose reading this x coming up: DOMESTIC MERTHUR TO THE MAX
> 
> had fully FULLY intended for my next merthur fic to be a modern au. had it all planned and that, however had inspiration strike after re-reading an old favourite from another fandom and like .... have already changed my mind and decided my next fic will be set in canon era - tho merlin never goes to camelot - and merlin will also have wings. no i am not elaborating at this time


	28. Chapter 28

Arthur addresses the people later that evening.

It gives those who sought refuge time to return to their homes. Most of the debris and rubble has been cleared away by then and the knights with more superficial wounds are up and walking, albeit with a bandage or two. Brick by brick, stitch by stitch, Camelot puts itself back together.

Both Arthur and Merlin have spent the day rushed off their feet, helping where they can and attempting to regain some order. They find that a handful of counsellors had left the city before the attack; presumably too disgusted with the concept of repealing the magic ban. Presumably too fucking cowardly to say so to Arthur’s face.

The remaining counsellors attempt to persuade Arthur to change into something more regal to make his speech. Arthur, who is having the wound on his back restitched, gives them a look that could wither three fields of crops.

The sun is high in the sky when he and Arthur descend the steps into the citadel courtyard. Arthur didn’t want to stand on the balcony, said he always hated it when his father did that. Instead he stands eye to eye with the gathered crowd. His sleeves are rolled up to the elbow. There’s a bruise blossoming on his cheekbone and his hair is pushed back from his forehead, sweaty and tousled.

He has never looked more like a King.

“Today, the people of this city returned to their homes.” Arthur smiles ruefully. “And I know we are all much relieved there was a city to return to.”

That elicits a tired laugh, eases some of the tension in the air. Merlin can see Gwaine standing towards the back, Percival’s arm slung around his shoulders.

“Lady Morgana and her army have been defeated,” Arthur continues steadily. Only Merlin is close enough to see the way his hands tremble, folded neatly behind his back. “She will never again threaten the lives of all who live in this kingdom.”

The relief after this statement is made is palatable. Some of the townsfolk are openly crying, others gripping the children’s hands and pulling them close. Merlin, already on edge and exhausted, could probably cry for the fifth time today at the show of emotion.

“We have Camelot’s knights to thank for this victory.” Arthur inclines his head. “As well as the support of our allies from Nemeth. But there are others that deserve Camelot’s gratitude, others without whom we’d never have won this battle.”

Arthur lifts his chin as silence falls. “In Camelot’s hour of need, those with magic stepped forward to protect it.”

It is only years of practice that keep Merlin’s face blank. He doesn’t move, doesn’t react even as his heart thumps in his chest.

“I do not exaggerate when I say we owe them our lives.” Arthur’s eyes are clear and piercing as they look out at his people. “Our lives, and much more besides.”

As they’d discussed, Arthur looks to him then. He holds out his hand, and Merlin slips his palm into Arthur’s.

“I have always striven to make Camelot a fair and just kingdom,” Arthur states. His hand is sweaty. “And that means fair and just for _all_ who live in it.”

They both hold their breath as Arthur’s words echo through the air; the proverbial gauntlet thrown at the kingdom’s feet. His meaning is obvious, no other way for it to be construed.

For a terrifying, excruciating moment, nothing happens.

Then a voice calls out. “Long live the King!”

It’s only Arthur’s grip that stops Merlin’s knee from buckling. His nails dig into the back of Arthur’s hand as the cry quickly picks up momentum. “Long live the King! Long live the King!”

Gwaine puts his fingers in his mouth and whistles, Percival laughing beside him. The crowd is cheering. Leon is grinning from ear to ear.

“There will be a great many changes made to Camelot in the coming months,” Arthur says hoarsely. “But for now, you should all return to your homes and get some rest.”

Slowly, the people make their way out of the square and back towards the lower town. Arthur watches them leave, smiling so widely his cheeks dimple. He turns to Merlin after a little girl skips past, hand in hand with her brother. “Well, that went - Merlin? Merlin, are you alright?”

“I’m fine,” Merlin says shortly, not looking at him.

“Are you - are you crying for the seventh time today?”

“It’s only been six,” Merlin snaps, and rubs roughly at his eyes.

Arthur laughs, curling an arm around his waist and drawing Merlin closer to his side. “You know, none of this would have been possible without you.”

“Yeah. Well.” Merlin sniffles. “Don’t you forget it.”

“Such an ass,” Arthur mutters, before kissing him, sweet and short and in front of every citizen of Camelot, and Merlin really is not going to cry for a seventh time today,_ he’s not._

-

He and Arthur have shared a bed more than a dozen times now. Merlin still has his chambers with Gaius, all his belongings are still there, but more often than not he spends the night in Arthur’s chambers.

(At some point, he will have to admit to himself that he can’t stay with Gaius forever, but that makes Merlin feel strange. And uncertain. And like time has passed without him even realising. So he’s just not focusing on that for now.)

Anyway, whenever they share a bed, they end up in any number of positions. Usually, Arthur likes to hold Merlin from behind, burrow his face in Merlin’s nape and wrap his arms around Merlin’s chest. Other times, Merlin is the one to hold Arthur, something he is growing to like more and more, feeling Arthur’s heartbeat beneath his palm and tucking his knees into the space behind Arthur’s legs.

This particular morning, Merlin wakes up sprawled over Arthur’s chest like a tired puppy. He yawns, blinking his eyes open and looking down at the sleeping King beneath him. The bruise on Arthur’s cheekbone is now a mottled lilac colour. There’s a smaller scar just above his right eyebrow, edged in silver. Merlin’s fingers itch with the urge to trace its path.

“Merlin, stop watching me sleep,” Arthur mutters.

“I’m not,” Merlin lies, propping himself up on Arthur’s chest with his elbows and enjoying the way Arthur oofs when they dig into his skin. “Anyway, you should wake up if you don’t want me to watch you. Do I have to spell everything out for you, Arthur?”

Arthur blinks at him blearily. “What have I done to deserve such cheek first thing in the morning?”

“I have a list,” Merlin tells him seriously. “Top of it is that time you - “

“Merlin,” Arthur groans, and Merlin laughs.

He takes pity on him and ducks his head down to kiss Arthur soundly on the lips. They haven’t kissed - not like this anyway - since before the battle. There’s isn’t exactly time for a good grope when you’re spending every minute in the war chambers.

Arthur’s lips are sweet, slightly chapped. His hands come up to angle Merlin’s jaw, deepening the kiss, and he can feel warmth spread all the way through his body. Arthur is growing hot and heavy under him, and Merlin grinds his hips forward, shuddering as flames spark in his stomach.

“Merlin.” Arthur breaks away, hands still framing Merlin’s face. “Merlin, no.”

Merlin frowns at him. “What? Why?”

Arthur sits up, guiding Merlin with him so Merlin is straddling his lap. “Did you forget the part where you have broken ribs?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “They’re not even broken.”

Arthur snorts. He runs one finger over the ladder of Merlin’s ribs. “Your chest looks like it’s been dipped in purple paint.”

“It doesn’t.” Merlin looks down at himself and grimaces. “Okay, I’ll admit it doesn’t look great.”

“You were thrown off the battlements,” Arthur says slowly. “And then thrown against the brick wall. Repeatedly. Several times.”

“I know what repeatedly means,” Merlin says grumpily. “But I’m fine. Fine enough for you to - “

“Gaius said you’re not to do any strenuous activities,” Arthur interrupts. He crosses his arms, face flushed.

Merlin stares at him. “Did you ask Gaius if we can have _sex_?”

“_No_!” Arthur hisses. “Why would you even - no. But I - unlike you - listened when he was telling us how to treat your injuries. There’s a vial over there that you’re meant to rub into your chest each day to help with the bruising.”

He gestures to the corner of the room, where there is indeed a small salve bottle on the side. Arthur follows his gaze, eyes soft. “If I hurt you, I’d never forgive myself.”

Merlin can’t help his little inhale. He doesn’t know what to think when Arthur looks at him like that; like he’s something precious. Something special.

“Alright,” Merlin says quietly. He traces the scar on Arthur’s temple, the way he wanted to earlier. “You know, that salve is for both of us. You’ve got quite a shiner.”

Arthur touches the bruise under his eye, wincing. “It was during the battle.”

Merlin brushes his mouth against the marked skin. “What about the injury to your back?”

Arthur leans forward obediently so Merlin can feel along the neat row of stitches, right at the base of Arthur’s spine. He murmurs a spell under his breath and Arthur relaxes under his fingers.

“It will take away some of the pain,” Merlin explains.

Arthur opens his mouth to reply, but a sharp knock on the door interrupts them.

“Come in,” Arthur calls automatically, and George pokes his head around the door.

“I have your breakfast, Sires.”

Merlin groans, not bothering to move from his current position. “Not you too, George!”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “George, tell Merlin he’ll have to get used to being addressed in a more formal way.”

George is too well-bred to _tell_ the King’s consort anything. Instead, George launches into a four minute and thirty seven second diatribe on the correct titles for a King’s boyfriend slash personal magician.

Merlin clambers off Arthur with a disgusted noise and gets dressed, because honestly nothing kills the mood quicker than ‘a brief history of how to address royal suitors through the centuries.’

Merlin flops down into a chair and gestures to where George is laying out the breakfast plates. “Do I not do this anymore, then?”

Arthur rests a hand on the back of Merlin’s chair and kisses the crown of his head. “Merlin, you don’t even like delivering my breakfast.”

“That’s not the point,” Merlin mutters, crossing his arms as Arthur takes the seat beside him and George trips over the rug in his haste to serve him.

“I will be taking over your day to day duties,” George explains. “You will have far more important tasks to attend to with the King. Like wrestling dragons.”

Merlin side eyes him to see if George is taking the piss, but he seems completely awed so that’s another person to add to the list of people who believed that rumour. (Gwaine is keeping a tally.)

“And repealing the magic ban,” Arthur sighs, nodding his gratitude to George as he exits the room.

“How could I forget that was on the agenda for today?” Merlin says sarcastically, stabbing his sausage with more force than necessary.

Sarcastically, because it’s the only way to hide the fact his stomach is eating itself with nerves.

It would be nice if Merlin saving the entire kingdom and everyone in it with magic, was enough to convince the council that magic is not the root of all evil.

It would be nice, Merlin thinks bitterly, if people could apply a bit of independent thought. It would be even nicer if Arthur could repeal the magic ban with a click of his fingers, but he can’t. They can’t. It’s going to take hours of talks, negotiations, compromises, because Arthur may not be his father, but centuries of prejudge and ignorance take more than one battle to set right.

“Merlin,” Arthur says quietly, noticing his silence. “Are you alright? Are you nervous about today?”

Merlin fiddles with his knife. “Maybe a little.”

Arthur reaches for an apple. “I’m nervous. We are overturning a law that has been in place for decades. And if I’m feeling nervous then - then I have no idea how you must feel.”

Merlin takes the apple slice Arthur holds out to him. “It’s only - we can’t just repeal the law. Magic is a tool, the same way a sword is. We repeal the ban with no regulations, any sorcerer with a grudge could attack you and undo all the good we’ve done.”

He swallows. “And equally there needs to be protection for magic users. Once magic is legal - once people can use their powers in public again, anyone who despises sorcerers will know who to target. They’ll be - they’ll be out in the open.”

Merlin flushes when he realises Arthur is listening to him intently.

“What if we just amended the laws we already have in place to include sorcery?” Arthur asks slowly. “We already have laws that prohibit murder, assault. Using magic to do so would carry the same sentence as using a sword or your fists.”

“That could - that could work.” Merlin pops the slice of apple in his mouth, thinking. “But I think you’ll need to create a separate set of protections for magic users.”

“You think the laws we have in place now against violence won’t be enough?”

Merlin hesitates. “Do you want me to be honest?”

“Merlin. I welcome your counsel.” Arthur spreads his hands, looking determined. “I am not a sorcerer. I don’t know what life is like for you, I don’t know what you need, what is needed to keep those with magic safe.”

He shakes his head. “I wish I had more sorcerers to consult with on making these laws. Perhaps one day I will. But for now, I want to hear your views, because it’s you these laws are going to affect. Not me.”

Merlin gazes at him, speechless, before pulling himself together. He sits up straight, folding his hands in his laps. “Well, I - I can't speak for all sorcerers but - capturing those with magic, executing them - it's been accepted for a long time. Encouraged. There will be those in Camelot that don’t agree with repealing the ban. Who believe sorcerers are dangerous and evil still. And that’s why we need protection. In case there’s backlash.”

Merlin looks down at his hands. “And there _will_ be backlash, Arthur. How much and in what way, I don’t know. But it’s not enough to just say magic is legal. It can’t just be - tolerated. Those with magic have the right to feel - protected. _Worth_ protecting.”

He stops talking abruptly. His mouth feels dry, though the talking is only partly to blame for that. His heartbeat thunders in his chest.

“Thank you, Merlin,” Arthur says softly. “Do you want to be the one to propose these new protections to the council?”

Merlin's head snaps up. “Me?”

Arthur smiles. “Yes, _you_. I’ll back you. But if you’re not sure about speaking in front of the council, then I can suggest it on your behalf. I know it can be daunting proposing something like that at your first meeting.”

Merlin blinks at him. “Just - just like that?”

“Merlin.” Arthur takes his hand, linking their fingers together. “Merlin, my words about changing things means nothing, nothing, if my actions don’t follow suit.”

Merlin swallows hard. Arthur squeezes his hand and adds, “There’s also the fact I adore you an embarrassing amount, so you could pretty much announce whatever you want at council meetings and I’d agree.”

“Arthur,” Merlin whines. “I am trying to reduce the amount of time I spend crying.”

Arthur laughs then, dragging Merlin up from the table and into an embrace. “Sorry, am I being unhelpful?”

“No more than usual,” Merlin mumbles into his shoulder. “I would like to be the one to propose the protections to the council. Perhaps after we’ve agreed the ban will be lifted.”

Arthur draws back so they’re face to face, but keeps his arms around Merlin’s waist. “That’s a good idea. We both know they’re not going to be short meetings.”

“Can I shout at the councillors?”

Arthur shrugs. “I do, when they’re being stupid.”

Merlin hums. “I will if they say something ignorant. Though they’ll probably pass out if I so much as raise my voice, worry that I’ll turn them into a frog or something.”

Arthur looks thoughtful. “I think most of them are open to change. But others prefer my father’s way of ruling. Come on, if you’re going to make a speech, you need the right outfit. Image is everything when you’re in front of the court. George has brought you something to wear.”

“When did he do that?”

“When you were trying to burn a hole through him with your eyes for serving me breakfast. Come on, Merlin.”

George has neatly set out a purple tunic for him to wear, a soft lilac with a high collar. There is golden stitching down the front and around the neck. Merlin gestures to the collar and snorts. “Could you be any more obvious?”

Arthur just smirks, raking his eyes over Merlin’s bare chest in a way that makes him shiver. Merlin frowns at him. “Don’t look at me like that. No strenuous activity, remember?”

Arthur pulls a face at him and retreats behind the screen to change into his own clothes. Merlin picks up the next piece of clothing and sighs. “Arthur! I’m not wearing a cape!”

“It goes with the tunic! George told me!”

“Have you seen how sunny it is outside? It’ll make a terrible impression if I collapse before we even make it to the meeting!”

“Fine, don’t wear it today. But you’ll have to wear it to the ceremony.”

Merlin pauses in the middle of pulling on his knee high boots, the leather soft and velvety against his skin. “What ceremony?”

Arthur heaves a great sigh, leaning his head around the screen. “The ceremony where I crown you court sorcerer. Do keep up, Merlin.”

“I’m not talking about that,” Merlin says immediately. “They are only so many life changing events I can deal with at once.”

Arthur walks over to his bedside table to get his belt. “Fine, leave me to do all the work behind the scenes as usual. Well, me and George. He has lots of ideas about your court sorcerer outfit.”

“No,” Merlin says flatly.

“_Concepts_,” Arthur continues airily. “That’s the word he used. He might have even done a sketch. Do you like jewellery?”

Merlin opens his mouth to answer, then pauses. “I - I don’t know. I don’t have any. Apart from this sigil.” He gently taps the sigil pinned to his chest. “Are men in Camelot allowed to wear jewellery? People were funny about that back in Ealdor.”

Arthur snorts. “As far as I’m concerned, men in Camelot can wear what they want. George suggested a bracelet, but I said you wouldn’t want that. It’d get in the way when you were healing people.”

“I - true,” Merlin concedes. “But it’s not your turn to buy the gifts.”

Arthur stares at him. “What?”

Merlin holds his fingers up to tick them off one by one. “You gave me the sigil. Then the gloves and the arm guard. And don’t think I didn’t see that bow you and Leon smuggled into the castle the other week.”

Arthur shrugs. “I’m the King of Camelot, I can do what I want.”

“I’m going to be court sorcerer and King-consort, I can also do whatever I want,” Merlin argues. “Stop - “

There’s a loud rap on the door, followed by Leon pushing it open and entering. “Good morning, Arthur, Merlin. We should leave now if you want to get there before the others.”

Arthur straightens his tunic. He’s in Camelot red today, but he’s wearing his golden circlet, a thin band of gold that is a less ostentatious version of his usual crown. “Good thinking.”

“Merlin, you look lovely,” Leon says, presumably without thinking, because he immediately turns beet red and walks into a chair. “I only - sorry - that colour - “

Merlin puts him out of his misery. “Thank you, Leon. I draw the line at the cape, though.”

“Save that for the ceremony,” Leon says helpfully.

Merlin whirls on Arthur. “Leon knows as well?”

“George showed me the sketch,” Leon explains, not trying to hide his smirk, and Merlin glares at him, too.

“You do look lovely,” Arthur tells him, holding out his arm for Merlin to take.

“Oh, don’t you start,” Merlin snaps, digging his fingers into Arthur’s forearm.

To his credit, Arthur barely winces. “Right. Ready?”

Merlin swallows hard. “As I’ll ever be.”

-

The first three hours of discussions don’t go horrendously.

The debate doesn’t focus on whether magic should be legalised or not. In the face of a sorcerer saving Camelot from a dragon, an army and a High Priestess, anyone wanting the magic ban to stay in place doesn’t have a leg to stand on. Merlin would wager that the success of the trade with the druids also sways the vote in favour of magic not being a completely unspeakable evil.

The problems arise when the talk turns to how the ban will be lifted; how and when and in what way? How will they prevent sorcerers from turning rogue? How will the people feel safe with sorcerers freely walking the streets? How will Merlin restrain himself from punching all these prejudiced bigots in the face?

It quickly becomes clear that the council falls into three distinct groups. Those, like Gaius and Geoffrey, who remember a time before the purge - and likely the time of the purge, with all the bloodshed that followed, and are very open to changing the law.

The second group are those who are suspicious of magic, but can admit being saved by a sorcerer was better than being eaten alive by an enchanted wyvern. Not to mention that trade with the druids has certainly been prosperous and trading with other magic users could prove a good financial opportunity.

The second group are grudgingly open to changing the law, but only because it benefits them and because they don’t want to risk Merlin turning them all into toads.

The third - and worst - group, are the oldest of Uther’s advisers. They are not brave enough to contest lifting the ban, nor stupid enough to risk Arthur’s ire to suggest such. Instead, they watch Merlin like he’s a grenade about to go off, and argue passionately that - whilst not illegal - magic needs to be controlled as much as possible.

It is one of the third group, Lord Edwin, that Gwaine is currently rowing with.

“This is a huge adjustment for the people,” Lord Edwin says condescendingly. “For magic to no longer be tightly controlled - “

“The druids have been trading with Camelot now for months,” Gwaine points out. “The people have adjusted to having magic users among them.”

“But this is different! To have sorcerers openly performing their - tricks - “

“I imagine it’ll be a big _adjustment_ for the sorcerers, too,” Merlin snaps, unable to hold his tongue any longer. “To be able to exist freely without being executed for it.”

Lord Edwin’s mouth shuts with a satisfying click.

The rest of the room falls silent, but Merlin is too riled up to care. “Changing the law on magic doesn’t just affect those without it. It affects every sorcerer within Camelot. Did it ever occur to you there may be things they’re also frightened of?”

“But - but what could they possibly be afraid of?” Lord Edwin stammers. “They’re _sorcerers_.”

Merlin throws up his hands. “Oh, I don’t know. If I had to hazard a guess, I’d say being beaten in a back alley because of the _tricks_ I can do?”

Lord Edwin narrows his eyes and opens his fat mouth.

They call a recess five minutes later.

The moment the last councillor leaves the room, Merlin turns to Arthur and snaps, “I’m not apologising for that.”

“Merlin, I wouldn’t - “

“He’s a bigoted old man!” Merlin yells. “He has _no_ _idea_ what it’s like, and if you think for one second - “

“Merlin!” Arthur shouts. “I don’t want you to apologise!”

Merlin deflates. “Oh.”

Arthur snorts, cuffing him around the head gently. “It’s alright. I didn’t expect us to get through this without a bit of yelling. Besides, he is a bigot.”

“He _is_,” Percival mutters, resting his head on his arms.

“He’s going to be a bigot with a black eye if he doesn’t stop looking at Merlin like that,” Gwaine seethes.

Leon drums his fingers against the wooden tabletop. “We have more of the council on our side than I thought, though.”

“Because a third of them want to save their own necks,” Mordred scowls. He had sat quietly during the talking, watching keenly. Now the councillors have left, he’s let some of his guard down, eyes narrowed in irritation. “Or want to exploit my people for their own gain.”

“I am sorry, Mordred,” Leon says quietly. “Truly. But even if their intentions are self-serving, we need their support. Arthur may be the King, but even he can’t rewrite laws on his own.”

“Not unless I want to rule the way my father did,” Arthur mutters. “Without consulting anyone.”

Mordred sighs. “I understand. I wish I didn’t, but I do.” For a moment, a shadow crosses his face, but then he looks around the table and it clears. “I suppose it’ll all be worth it to see Merlin in his cape.”

“Not you as well,” Merlin groans, and everyone laughs.

-

In the end, it only takes four and a half days to come to an agreement. Gwaine does not punch anyone. Merlin shouts a bit more. So does Gaius at one point. Arthur and Merlin spend their evenings discussing the day’s events by candlelight, before falling into bed, exhausted.

But finally, it’s done. The new laws are drafted. All that’s left is the ceremony. The ceremony where Arthur overturns the magic ban and makes Merlin court sorcerer. Fuck.

Merlin is feeling more than slightly anxious about this, which is how he winds up in Gaius’ chambers the night before.

“Gaius,” Merlin whines. “Gaius, I can’t do this.”

Gaius sighs. In his defence, it’s the fourth time in as many minutes Merlin has said something along this variation.

“Merlin, you will be fine.”

“I won’t,” Merlin says immediately. “What if I fall over?”

“Then everyone will know for certain it’s you,” Gaius says, not bothering to look up from his book.

“Gaius!” Merlin slumps in his chair. “I’m going to be made a court sorcerer.”

“Yes.”

“In front of everyone. The entire castle.” Merlin stares at Gaius in horror. “This was a terrible idea. I’ve got to tell Arthur I don’t want the job.”

Gaius finally closes his book. “Merlin.”

Merlin bites his lip. “Yes?”

“It’s going to be fine.”

Merlin exhales slowly. “How do you know?”

“Because you’ve been the court sorcerer of Camelot since the day you set foot in this city.” Gaius smiles gently. “Perhaps you did not have the title, or the recognition, but no one has protected this kingdom and its people the way you have. No one has risked more to keep them safe, even at great cost to yourself.”

Gaius gets up when Merlin doesn’t reply and places a hand on his shoulder. “Merlin. You deserve this.”

Merlin covers Gaius’ hand with his own. “I never could have done it without you, Gaius. There are times I thought I’d go mad from the weight of my destiny. But I always had you.” Merlin looks up at him. “Before Arthur knew, before Gwaine, before the knights. You were the first person in Camelot who knew who I truly was. The first one to help me.”

Gaius squeezes his hand. “I count myself very privileged to have watched you grow into the man before me.”

Merlin sniffles. “And you’ll be there? Tomorrow?”

“The entire time,” Gaius promises, and the knot in Merlin’s chest loosens, just an inch.

-

Arthur and Merlin barely see each other the morning of the ceremony.

George whisks Merlin away after breakfast, so quickly that all Merlin gets is a hurried kiss to his cheek before the door is closed on Arthur’s bemused face. The ceremony is being held at noon and Merlin is ushered into a side chamber by the main hall.

“So you can make your entrance,” George informs him delightedly, then sets to work.

He left thirty minutes ago. Merlin hasn’t gathered the courage to look in the mirror yet.

The door creaks open a crack and Merlin looks up in surprise. Mordred steps in, closing it quickly behind him. He does a double take when he sees Merlin. “Wow.”

“How bad is it?”

Mordred’s lip quirks up. “It’s definitely not _bad_.”

“As long as I don’t look like a blancmange again,” Merlin frowns. “You better not get caught by George, he was very specific that no one is to see me before the big entrance.”

“Ah. Wouldn’t want to anger George,” Mordred agrees, taking a seat beside him. “Arthur sent me.” He pauses. “And Gwaine. He bet you wouldn’t wear the cape.”

“I hope he’s lost all his money, then,” Merlin mutters, and Mordred laughs softly.

Merlin looks down at his boots and very specifically nothing else. “Is Arthur pacing yet?”

“No? But he keeps fiddling with his armour.”

“The pacing will be next.”

“Ah. I’ll warn the others.”

They sit in companionable silence for a moment, before Mordred clears his throat. “Merlin, I - I didn’t actually come just to make Gwaine loose a large amount of money.”

Merlin smiles at him. “You don’t say.”

Mordred smiles back, a little nervous. He is dressed in Camelot colours; shining silver armour and crimson cape. “I wanted to say thank you.”

Merlin blinks at him. “For what?”

Mordred shakes his head. “Merlin, I don’t think you know how much everything you’ve done means to our people. There are too many reasons to count. Magic returned to Camelot, the druids free to move within the city. _Dragons_!” Mordred’s eyes go wide, filled with wonder. “Dragons once again roaming the skies! When I was a young boy, I could only dream of such things.”

Merlin clears his throat awkwardly. “I didn’t do it all on my own, I had help.”

“Merlin, I _know_ how you have suffered,” Mordred says quietly. “I understand in a way no one else can. A sorcerer living in the heart of Camelot, during the reign of Uther himself. I can’t imagine it.” He ducks his head. “Whatever - whatever suspicions you had in the past, I hope you know now that I wish you every happiness.”

Merlin rests a hand on Mordred’s forearm. “I do know, Mordred. Of course I do.”

Mordred nods once, lashes wet. “Good. I’m glad.” He reaches inside his cloak, bringing out a small parcel. “Arthur told me to give you this.”

Merlin takes it. “What is it?”

“I don’t know. He said something about jewellery? And that you would know what he meant?”

“That show off,” Merlin scowls.

Mordred laughs, climbing to his feet. He straightens out his cape, a proud look in his eye at the golden dragon that adorns the shoulder. “I must go.”

Merlin lifts a hand in parting. “Thank you, Mordred. For everything.”

“Look in the mirror, Merlin,” Mordred orders, and grins at him before he leaves.

Mordred is right and Merlin is running out of time, anyway. There is a full length mirror that George had gushed over, so he stands, takes a deep breath, and turns around to look in it.

He looks at the cloak first, seeing as everyone's made such a fuss about it. Merlin gets why now. The cloak is pure white fur, the colour of fresh snow and so long it pools at his feet. It’s held in place by a shining clasp. Merlin steps closer to the glass to see it better, and realises it’s a bird.

“No,” Merlin murmurs. “Not a bird. A _merlin_. Arthur, you _sap_.”

His tunic is the colour of the spring sky, a light blue. Silver thread has been carefully stitched to glint in the light, like a handful of silver stars scattered across his chest. There are gloves to match, supple brown leather and finger-less. In contrast to his tunic, his breeches are black as coal and his equally dark boots reach to the knee.

And there’s the crown.

George has done something to his hair, so that’s it tousled and curled in a way that Merlin could never hope to achieve on his own. The circlet is made of spun gold, two delicate bands that twine together. In the centre of the circlet there is a white gemstone in the shape of a dragon.

“Aithusa,” Merlin murmurs, his heart squeezing in his chest.

He reaches for the little parcel next, unwrapping the cloth. Merlin isn’t sure what it is at first and lifts it up to the light to see it properly.

It’s an ear cuff, he realises. Another dragon, one that would curl around the ridge of his ear. It’s delicate, made of thin gold and intricately designed. His hands tremble as he fixes it in place.

He steps back, swallowing as he takes in his reflection.

He thought he’d feel afraid, but he doesn’t. A wave of calm washes over him; his magic feels like molten gold in his chest, warm and content as it threads through his veins. The _rightness_ of the moment settles in his spine, like a key turning in a lock.

“Gaius was right,” Merlin whispers to his reflection. “You’re going to be just fine.”

George is beaming from ear to ear when he returns a quarter of an hour later. Everyone is already assembled in the hall and Merlin is led through a side corridor to stand just outside the large, wooden doors. He can hear murmuring from inside, then a hush that indicates Arthur must be taking his place at the front of the room.

Arthur’s voice is clear, even to Merlin standing outside the room. “For many years, those with magic in this kingdom have lived in fear. They have been persecuted and executed for a gift they could not control. I, myself, am not innocent of upholding my father’s laws and do not claim to be.”

The room is completely silent. Merlin can imagine Arthur is steeling himself, setting his shoulders and keeping his head high.

“Today, that persecution ends,” Arthur states, voice echoing through the room. “From today, those with magic will no longer have to hide. They will no longer live in fear of execution and oppression. From this day forth, magic is once again legal in Camelot.”

At first, Merlin doesn’t know what that noise is, that swelling drumbeat from inside the hall. Then he realises it’s applause, and has to steady himself on a pillar to stop his knees buckling.

“I have always wanted Camelot to be a fair and just kingdom for all,” Arthur continues, the slightest catch in his voice. “Magic is neither inherently good nor evil. Like a sword in a man’s hand, it is the wielder that chooses its purpose. And just like a sword, our laws will still state it can’t be used to harm others.”

He can make out the sound of footsteps and wonders if Arthur has stepped down from the dais, onto the floor where he is eye to eye with his people.

“This may come as a surprise to some of you, but I do not have magic,” Arthur continues, almost an aside, low and light. The crowd laughs; as always, Arthur has them eating out of his palm. “As such, it would be remiss of me to not seek counsel on magical matters. Just as my advisers consult me on matters of state, of war, I need an adviser that can guide me in matters of sorcery, who can speak on behalf of those with magic.”

Arthur’s voice is as warm as the summer sun. “There is only one possible name that comes to my mind.”

The doors to the great hall creak open. Every head in the room turns to look at him, but Merlin only has eyes for one person.

Arthur is stood by the throne. He is resplendent in red and silver, etched in sunlight as beams of light filter through high wooden beams. Atop his head lies a golden crown, and behind him the flag of Camelot flutters, a brilliant, golden dragon.

Merlin doesn’t see the crowds of people, doesn’t hear the hushed murmurs and gasps as he passes them by. He only sees Arthur.

His cloak whispers against the floor as he walks forward, each step graceful, surefooted. His magic is thrumming and the bird that clasps his cloak together flutters her wings, just once.

Merlin stops just in front of his King. There is a second then, a heartbeat of time that belongs only to them, where all there is is Arthur’s smile, and his eyes, bright and tender and full of hope.

Gracefully, Merlin drops to one knee before him. Arthur steps forward, drawing his sword. “You have defended this kingdom with your own life. Never once have you sought recognition or reward, only to protect those in need of aid.”

Merlin looks up at him beneath his lashes, his heart so full he can scarcely breathe.

“I know no one braver,” Arthur continues. “And no one kinder. There is no other that I would want by my side.”

Arthur lays the sword against his left shoulder, then the right. “Arise, Merlin, court sorcerer of Camelot.”

Merlin takes Arthur’s outstretched hand and rises to his feet. Arthur turns them to face the people. He tangles their fingers together once before letting go, stepping backward and out of focus. It’s Merlin who stands front and centre, gazing out into the crowd.

The applause is deafening.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> our baby is all grown up and court sorcerer 
> 
> quick thoughts of dress up merlin 101: maybe it's a bit cliche but i've always liked merlin in blue, always liked the contrast of blue/silver to arthur's red/gold. i am a big fan of the sun/moon comparison as well. also like? i like him in blue with reference to sea/sky, white which is the snow, then the contrast of the earth with the dark breeches/dark brown gloves. (also just put merlin in finger-less gloves forever, thanks)
> 
> re - the jewellery - just put him in all of it, honesty. originally i wrote the circlet to just be a white gem or whatever, but then was like. bitch. white *dragon* merlin in an ear cuff is my fave thing on him and he also wears it in my mob au one shot'
> 
> just dress him in everything HONESTLY
> 
> thoughts are always appreciated??? i know this was something a lot of you were looking forward to, so hopefully it didn't disappoint LOL
> 
> on a side note, i watched the old guard the other week and like. so good. nicky and joe. NILE. ugh so good. absolutely nothing is funnier to me than, 'there's a tv, joe!'
> 
> side side note - i finally caved and watched hamilton on disney plus cause like. not going to be seeing it on stage anytime soon, am i? anyway to the surprise of no one i cried A LOT. but more importantly, THE PART IN SATISFIED WHEN YOU REALISE IT'S JUST THE HELPLESS DANCE SLOWED DOWN AND REPEATED? HOW? Hooow? 
> 
> you know when people say chaotic energy... i have never seen anything embody that as much as the second act of that play. like yeah the first half is pretty bad but the second half THE CHAOS.
> 
> also i did not think it was possible to love daveed diggs even more but here we are.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is nothing but domestic fluff and the third? sex scene in nearly 200k words YOU WERE WARNED IT WAS SLOW BURN

There is a feast afterwards, and a celebration, as there always is for times like this. Most of the aftermath is a blur in all honesty, Merlin too overwhelmed, too heart full to remember it all clearly.

There are parts that do stand out; Gaius hugging him tightly, Merlin clinging to him. Gwaine shoving a tankard into his hands, mead spilling over the sides in his excitement. Arthur whispering that Merlin looks beautiful, breath hot on Merlin’s skin as his mouth brushes his ear.

They stumble to bed hours later, making far too much noise, and grinning at the guards as they trip past. Merlin collapses onto the sheets, rests his head on Arthur’s chest, and sleeps better than he has in years.

-

His first few weeks as court sorcerer are very dull.

Turns out, legal or not, no one wants to be the first person to use magic openly in Camelot. No one wants to be the first person to test whether the King’s words are true. After years of persecution, half the city seem to be holding their breath, watching, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Furthermore, the majority of the council remain terrified and/or in awe of Merlin, so none of them ask him to do anything either. And now that Arthur has lifted the magic ban, assassination attempts have dwindled as well, so really Merlin is at a loss.

It’s late afternoon and he’s complaining to Gwaine about it. They’re playing a game of cards in Arthur’s chambers, the other knights scattered around. The council meeting had finished an hour ago and they’d turned to more leisurely pursuits.

“Let me get this straight,” Gwaine says, shuffling his cards. “You spend all of your time keeping Arthur’s head attached to his shoulders, and now you’re complaining because his life isn’t constantly in danger?”

“No,” Merlin huffs. “I’m just bored, is all.”

Gwaine puts down a card. “If you’re bored, you could do something about that damn wyvern.”

Merlin blinks at him. “It’s still here?”

Gwaine grunts. “Yes, someone.” He lifts his head to glare at Percival across the room. “Keeps feeding it chicken bones from the kitchen.”

“I’ll put it on the list then.”

“Merlin,” Arthur calls from where he is talking to Leon. “Are you complaining again?”

Merlin tilts his head to look at him. “I don’t know, are you still alive and kicking?”

“Charming,” Arthur mutters.

“Other sorcerors will feel safe enough to use their magic freely soon,” Mordred reassures him. “But they’ve lived in fear for so long. It will take longer than a day for that fear to leave them.”

He puts down a card that signals he’s won the game, and Gwaine groans. “How did you do that?”

“It probably had something to do with me watching the game, not running my mouth off,” Mordred suggests sweetly, and Merlin laughs.

He takes the cards from Mordred’s hands and shuffles them, before dealing them out once more. “I know it’ll take time, I’ve just never been good at being patient.”

Mordred smiles. “I know. Though Gwaine is right, you really should do something about the wyvern.”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Why are you all going on about that? Besides, I’ve never seen it skulking around the castle.”

“Because it’s terrified of you,” Mordred says pointedly.

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I think it’s embarrassed to see me. Ashamed, after throwing me off a bloody battlement.”

Arthur gets up from his chair, wandering over to the table Merlin is playing at to pour himself a cup of wine. Once it’s full, he lingers by Merlin’s seat, cup held idly between his fingers. “Has Mordred won again?”

Mordred ducks his head proudly. Gwaine sighs. “Only because he’s cheating.”

“He’s not cheating,” Merlin says indignantly. “You’re just rubbish at this game.”

Arthur rests his hand on Merlin’s shoulder and Merlin looks up at him, eyes fluttering closed when Arthur ducks down to kiss him gently. It’s chaste, only a brush of Arthur’s mouth against his, but Merlin’s chest glows like coals in the fire.

Arthur straightens up, but keeps his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, leaning against the side of his chair. He points at one of Merlin’s cards. “You should play that one.”

Gwaine scowls as Merlin places it down triumphantly. “You can’t help him!”

Merlin ignores Gwaine. He reaches for Arthur’s belt loops, tugging him down so he’s perched on the arm of the chair. Arthur laughs in surprise, one hand gripping Merlin’s shoulder for balance. “What one next?”

“Er - that one, my love.”

Gwaine kicks Merlin under the table. “No, no way. I can deal with Merlin cheating, but I draw the line at watching Arthur cuddle him while he does it.”

“Merlin’s worse at this than you,” Arthur says, ignoring Merlin’s offended noise. “I doubt it’ll make that much of a difference.”

Merlin slaps his hand away. “I don’t want your help anymore!”

Arthur laughs. “Fine, then I guess the third game will be Morded’s, too.”

He slides off the chair arm, touching his knuckles to Merlin’s cheek before walking back to the table he was sat at before. Leon and Percival are watching their exchange with amused smiles. Leon says something to Arthur when he sits back down, which has Arthur flushing and Percival guffawing. Arthur shoves Leon’s arm and Leon laughs, snagging Arthur’s cup to take a sip of his wine.

Merlin looks around the room, at his friends, at his love, at all the people he no longer has to hide his true self from, and wonders if this is what peace feels like.

Mordred does win the third game, and the fourth, and is on track for a fifth until Gwaine throws in the towel and calls it a night. After the knights have trickled out it’s just Merlin and Arthur, the room cast in shadows but for the flames of the candles.

Merlin sits on the side of the bed, watching as Arthur places his rings on the dresser. He’s meant to be getting undressed, but he’s put that on hold for the more valuable task of considering how Arthur’s back muscles move under his loose shirt.

“Are you really bored?” Arthur asks, stretching languidly with his back still turned.

Merlin’s mouth feels a little dry, especially when Arthur makes a contented noise at the stretch of his muscles. “Er, no. I was only teasing. I know there will be lots for me to do. There's a lot for me to do now, really. I.”

He trails off, though thankfully Arthur doesn’t seem to notice. He’s shedding his shirt now, and Merlin inhales at the sight of Arthur’s bare skin.

“Oh, good. I thought you were but I wanted to - Merlin?”

“Hm?”

Arthur frowns, gesturing. “You’re still dressed.”

Merlin swallows. “You could - you could do something about that.”

Arthur’s eyes go wide, then heavy, and the air changes between them, turning hot and languid. Merlin feels his stomach clench in anticipation as Arthur takes slow, predatory steps towards him.

“I could, could I?” he murmurs, sliding his arms around Merlin and toppling them backwards onto the bed.

Arthur fits their mouths together, lazy and deep and scorching hot. Merlin’s leg instinctively comes up to wrap around Arthur’s thigh, drawing him closer, closer, closer, and swallows Arthur’s whine as their groins press together.

“I think I’ll start here,” Arthur decides, reaching up to pull Merlin’s tunic over his head.

He throws it to the side when he’s done, propping himself up to gaze at Merlin’s bare chest. One hand skates over Merlin’s ribs, light and reverent.

The bruises have faded somewhat, now a mottled yellow rather than the deep purple they’d been before. After two weeks the pain is a lot better, just the odd ache here and there, though Merlin still feels a twinge when he bends over to pick something up.

Merlin cups Arthur’s face in his hand. “It’s been two weeks. I think we’re cleared for some strenuous activity.”

Arthur hums, ducking his head to press a kiss to Merlin’s navel. His breath is hot and heavy, and he’s so close to the junction of Merlin’s thighs that Merlin squirms.

“We still need to be careful, Merlin. You’re still bruised.”

Merlin frowns. “So are you.”

“Exactly, you’re proving my point.”

“Fuck, I didn’t intend to,” Merlin grumbles, and Arthur laughs.

“There are still things we can do. I just don’t - don’t want to hurt you.”

Merlin takes a deep breath and says clumsily, “There are - some things we still haven’t done. That I - that I would like to do. In the future.”

His cheeks are burning as Arthur ticks over what he’s just said. He can tell the moment realisation dawns by the way Arthur’s hand stills on his rib-cage.

“You mean you’d want me - want me to - “

“Fuck me,” Merlin blurts. “Yes. I want that.”

Arthur is gazing at him, in that way of his where he’s looking straight through you. He leans down to kiss Merlin again and, to Merlin’s surprise, it’s gentle, lingering.

“I would not _fuck_ you,” Arthur says softly when they break apart.

Merlin feels pain explode in his chest, followed swiftly by the sting of humiliation.

“Oh,” he manages dumbly. “I - “

“I would make love to you,” Arthur says carefully, and Merlin freezes.

Arthur is the one blushing now, his hand tracing delicate patterns over Merlin’s side. “For your - for our, our first time, that’s how it would be.”

“Oh,” Merlin breathes.

Arthur smiles shyly. “Only if - only if that’s what you also want.”

“It is,” Merlin answers quickly. “It is, Arthur.”

Arthur kisses him again, slow and deep until Merlin is breathless beneath him. He digs his nails into Arthur’s back, keeping him close, so that his next words brush against Arthur’s mouth. “And the other times?”

Arthur blinks at him and Merlin grins. “You said that’s how it would be the _first_ time. What about the others?”

Arthur laughs delightedly. His thumb hooks into the waistband of Merlin’s trousers, drawing them down his legs and off. Merlin’s cock is half hard already, and Arthur palms it, just once, causing him to inhale sharply.

“Arthur,” Merlin whines, reaching for Arthur’s own belt. He fumbles Arthur out of his own clothes until they’re both naked, skin to skin. Arthur rocks his hips forward slowly, his heavy cock grinding against Merlin’s own, and the friction feels so good.

Arthur bites the edge of Merlin’s jaw and rasps, “The next time I’d fuck you.”

Heat ricochets through him and Merlin arches his back, groaning as their cocks slide against each other. Arthur doesn’t stop, scraping his teeth gently over the skin of Merlin’s neck. “Here, like this. You on your back, desperate, _wet_ for me - “

His hand slips between them, circling around Merlin’s cock and jerking it. Merlin gasps, fingers gripping Arthur’s wrist. “Wait a moment - “

He flings a hand out, magic a little scattered with the hot, heavy way Merlin is feeling. The small pot of oil he hidden beneath the dresser smacks into his palm, “Arthur, please - “

Arthur understands immediately, unscrewing the lid and quickly slicking up his fingers. He grasps Merlin’s cock again, pulling him off with slick, measured strokes.

“Do you know how you should fuck me?” Merlin pants, heat building in his stomach.

“How?” Arthur breathes, his cock lying heavy against Merlin’s thigh. Each time Arthur fists Merlin’s cock, Arthur’s hips stutter forward, rutting into him.

It’s getting hard to focus now, Merlin drawing close to the edge. “On - on your throne, ah.”

Arthur swears, and Merlin stammers, “Or - or - whilst I’m wearing nothing but that white cape - “

Arthur’s hand tightens and Merlin comes, crying Arthur’s name as his eyes slam shut in pleasure. He spills over Arthur’s hand, but Arthur only lets go of Merlin’s cock to grip his own, using the slickness to bring himself off. When Arthur comes it’s over Merlin’s stomach, his hip, and fuck, Merlin really shouldn’t like as much as he does, but he really, really does.

Arthur collapses on top of him, panting in Merlin’s ear. Merlin sinks into the mattress, lax and trembling under Arthur’s weight. In a few minutes it’ll be too much, but right now it’s perfect, and Merlin runs his hands over Arthur’s back, drawing him closer still.

“You’re so beautiful,” Arthur murmurs. He mouths at Merlin’s neck, and Merlin sighs as the feel of Arthur’s lips kissing and biting and sucking the skin until Merlin is squirming again.

“Arthur, stop,” Merlin whines, pushing him away. “Or at least, give me five minutes.”

Arthur grins down at him, his mouth swollen and red. “Five?”

“Don’t be desperate, Pendragon,” Merlin smirks, and Arthur laughs.

He rolls off of Merlin, climbing out of the bed. Merlin lifts himself up on his elbows, but Arthur returns soon enough with a wet cloth. He gently pushes Merlin’s hip so he’ll lay back down, then cleans them both up.

Merlin could easily have used his magic to do so, but the moment is so intimate that Merlin feels shivery all over. The drag of the cloth over his thighs, damp and warm against his skin, the sure, certain movements of Arthur’s hands.

“There,” Arthur whispers when he’s done. His touch lingers on Merlin’s hip.

They both move to lay on their sides, facing each other. Merlin reaches up to brush Arthur’s hair back from his forehead. “I liked that.”

Arthur laughs again, the loud, unabashed one he only does around Merlin. “Good.”

Merlin snuggles into the pillow beneath his head. “I hope my ribs heal soon.”

Arthur presses his thumb into one of the marks his mouth left on Merlin’s neck, smirking when Merlin arches up into his touch. “So do I.”

The yawn escapes his mouth before he can stop it. Arthur’s gaze turns from heated to fond. He draws the covers up around them both, linking their fingers together beneath the sheets.

“Do you want to see something?” Merlin asks, feeling drowsy and sated.

Arthur rubs his thumb over Merlin’s knuckles and nods sleepily. Merlin draws his free hand out from under the blankets, and lifts it in the air. A trail of sparks rise from his palm, forming a constellation of a glowing dragon. It flies in a circle above their heads before slowly fading from view.

“Can you do another?” Arthur asks shyly.

“What shall I do?”

“Perhaps - perhaps a horse?”

“Easy,” Merlin grins.

He waves his hand and soon Apollo, Arthur’s horse, is prancing through the air, tossing the golden embers that make up his mane.

Arthur holds out a hand and Apollo trots onto it, pawing at the lines of Arthur’s palm. “It tickles,” Arthur says in wonder, and Merlin smiles at the awe in his voice.

After Apollo has drifted away into the dark, Merlin settles back under the covers. He rests his head on Arthur’s chest, Arthur’s arm circling his waist and holding him close to his side.

“I’ve been thinking,” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin yawns. “Always a dangerous course of action.”

Arthur snorts. “Hush, you. We should visit your mother soon, like we planned. Now that’s it’s all - over. There are still some other matters we have to attend to before I can leave Camelot unattended, but. Soon.”

“Soon,” Merlin repeats, a hushed oath. “I have so much to tell her. I’m not sure I’ll even know where to start.”

“The beginning?” Arthur suggests, and Merlin digs him in the ribs. “I was just trying to help!”

“Shut up, Arthur,” Merlin mumbles, rolling off Arthur’s chest and turning on his side. He smiles where Arthur spoons up behind him, pulling Merlin back against his front and burrowing his face in his hair.

“So bossy,” Arthur grumbles. “Goodnight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, Arthur,” Merlin mumbles, and closes his eyes.

-

After two more days of the councillors scurrying away from him like frightened mice, Merlin decides to find something else to do.

He has spent the morning with Arthur and the knights, pouring over the boundary maps. Princess Mithian and the delegate from Nemeth have been invited to visit Camelot in a month’s time, as a thanks for their aid in the battle.

Whilst Camelot’s gratitude is genuine, they’d be foolish not to think both kingdoms would take this opportunity to discuss the peace treaty between them and strengthen their alliance.

“I think that’s a fair proposal,” Arthur concludes, rolling up the map. “I suppose we’ll have to see what deal Nemeth brings to the table.”

Merlin drags one of the smaller maps towards him. It’s a map of Camelot’s grounds and the surrounding woods.

“Leon,” Merlin says abruptly. “If you had to put a cave somewhere in these woods, where would you put it?”

There is a long silence where Leon is clearly considering whether he wishes to be part of this conversation.

Merlin looks up at him and frowns sadly.

Leon sighs. “A cave?”

“Yes.”

“Why are you asking me, exactly?”

The knights exchange glances, and then Gwaine says, “To be fair, it does seem the kind of thing you would know.”

“How would you - _make_ a cave?” Leon says wearily.

“I have magic,” Merlin reminds him. “Unless there are caves around here already. Save me the effort.”

Leon rolls his eyes and takes the map from him. He peers at it, before pointing at one section. “There is a cave near this glade. It’s nearly hidden by a waterfall - those who do know of it avoid it, because the rocks are slippery from the water.”

“Finally got fed up of Arthur, then?” Gwaine grins. “Planning to move out?”

Merlin scoffs. “Please, if I left Arthur I’d move somewhere much nicer than a cave.”

“Queen Annis was fond of you,” Percival says thoughtfully. “I bet she’d have room in her castle.”

“Or the druid camp,” Mordred adds.

“See, you’re all finding this hilarious, now,” Arthur says casually, peering over Merlin’s shoulder at the map. “But it’ll be less funny when you find out what he’s really planning to keep in that cave.”

Leon looks at him in alarm. “What magical creature has Merlin adopted now?”

“What do you mean _now_?” Merlin says waspishly, turning to Arthur. “What have you told Leon about me?”

Arthur shrugs. “You were rather infatuated with that kelpie.”

Merlin huffs. “Shut up, Arthur. And it’s not for a kelpie, it’s for a dragon.”

Gwaine brightens. “You’re finally rehousing the wyvern!”

“No!” Merlin snaps. “It’s for Aithusa. She can’t live in the castle forever, she’ll grow too big. And she’ll want her independence when she’s older.”

“Like all teenagers do,” Mordred says drily.

Leon rubs his forehead. “That - the baby dragon is coming back to Camelot, then?”

Protectiveness flares in Merlin’s chest, a retort on his tongue, but then he sees the way Leon is holding himself. The way his shoulders are drawn, his muscles tense. He remembers Arthur’s words from so long ago. When I think of dragons, I think of death. I think of nights of death and fire.

“Leon, I - “ Merlin swallows. “I know what the great dragon did. I know you saw it firsthand. But Aithusa, she’s not - she wouldn’t - she’s a baby. Innocent. She won’t hurt anyone, I swear.”

Leon doesn’t reply immediately and Merlin looks down at his hands. “I can’t explain it, but she’s - she’s part of me. I won’t - I can’t leave her.”

“I know what it - she means to you,” Leon says quietly. “And I know you’d never mean anyone in this kingdom harm. It’s just hard for me to reconcile that with - with the memories in my head of what dragons can do.”

“We are all learning to trust each other,” Mordred offers softly. “Our beliefs - our fears, take time to change.”

Merlin nods but he’s watching Leon anxiously. He knows Leon has every right to be nervous, to dread the day Aithusa grows large enough to be dangerous, but still. He doesn't know what he’ll do if Leon can’t stand to be his friend anymore because of it.

Leon catches his eye, and his tentative smile has Merlin’s heart lifting. “Have you thought about this area?”

“Show me?” Merlin asks eagerly, and Leon rounds the table to explain better, bumping his shoulder against Merlin’s as he does so.

-

The day they ride out to get Aithusa, Merlin is brimming with excitement. Arthur tells him off after he walks into the third object, then clearly gives it up as a lost cause and attempts to ignore him for the rest of the morning.

Unsurprisingly, this doesn’t go down well. Merlin can be _very_ persistent.

“Arthur,” Merlin says brightly. “Arthur. Arthur. Arthur - “

“What?” Arthur grinds out, not looking up from the treaty he is drafting.

“When are we leaving?”

“When I’ve finished this,” Arthur replies, then adds under his breath, “the same as the first twelve times you asked me.”

Merlin hums, perched on the edge of the bed and swinging his heels back and forth. “Are you nearly done?”

Arthur sighs. “I will be done a lot faster if you stop interrupting me.”

“Oh. Sorry.” Arthur waves the apology away, looking back at his parchment. Merlin waits until his quill is just about to touch the paper, to say, “If you had to give an estimate - “

“_Merlin_!”

“Sorry!” Merlin laughs. “Sorry, I’ll stop, I promise.”

Arthur looks ready to give him a tongue lashing, but then his eyes linger on Merlin’s smile and a strange expression crosses his face.

“What?” Merlin asks, trying not to feel self conscious. “What is it?”

Arthur shakes his head. “It’s just - it’s been a while since I’ve seen you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Carefree,” Arthur says softly. “Silly. As though you don’t have the weight of the world on your shoulders.”

“Oh.” Merlin smiles hesitantly. “I suppose I don’t feel like I do, anymore. Not all the time, anyway, not how I used to. We still have so much to do, but I know now that it’s all going to be alright.”

“I like seeing you like this,” Arthur announces and Merlin flushes. “Come here, I’m almost done.”

Merlin wanders over, dropping down happily in Arthur’s lap. He sits with his legs either side of Arthur’s thighs, arms wrapped around Arthur’s waist as he faces the back of the chair. Arthur’s chin rests on his shoulder, arms still free to continue his writing.

It’s comfortable like this. Merlin closes his eyes and feels the steady beat of Arthur’s heart against his own chest, the slow rise and fall of his breathing. It’s grounding, settles some of Merlin’s excited energy.

“Alright, I’m done,” Arthur advises half an hour later. “Let’s go.”

Merlin grumbles, feeling a little like a cat being forced to leave its patch of sunlight. “I’m warm.”

“We’re off to see a dragon, I’m sure you’ll be warm enough. Come on, Merlin.”

Arthur gently disentangles Merlin from his lap, helping him to his feet as Merlin stretches languidly. He thinks back to what Arthur said about no longer having the weight of the world pressing down on him. There is time now for him to sprawl over Arthur for half an hour. There is time for them to spend the afternoon riding in the forest. All these things are possible, all these hours are suddenly available to them, because Merlin isn’t spending every second of his time hiding his powers, keeping secrets, fighting alone.

They saddle up the horses and ride out. The wyvern is gnawing a bone by the castle gates and it flicks an ear in their direction as they pass.

“Do you think Leon is alright with me?” Merlin asks as he ducks under a low hanging branch.

Arthur runs a hand over Apollo’s neck. “He was never at odds with you in the first place, Merlin.”

Merlin sighs. “Fine. Do you think Leon is alright with this?”

“Just give him some time to adjust,” Arthur advises him calmly. “He knows Aithusa means no harm, but it’s hard for him to not see her and think of - well. You know.”

Merlin looks down at the reins in his hands. “I do.”

Arthur hesitates, before reaching out a hand to squeeze Merlin’s shoulder. “Besides, that’s not the only thing he’s struggling with right now.”

Merlin frowns. “What do you mean?”

Arthur sets his jaw, mouth pulling into a thin line. “Remember he knew Morgana as a young girl.”

“Oh.” Merlin breathes out.

Any levity between them is gone, the shadows of the past surrounding them in an instant. It’s not as though Merlin had forgotten what happened, but you have to try to continue on. Keep living, keep breathing, even if all that pain is still there, just out of sight.

“I don’t know what to do,” Arthur blurts, and Merlin is startled by how vulnerable he sounds. “Her body it’s - it’s still in the crypts. We can’t have a public funeral, it’s not fair to the people. They won’t want that, after what she did to them - to the whole of Camelot, it’s - it’s unforgivable. You saw how relieved they were she’d never hurt them again. But at the same time I can’t - I can’t leave her there - “

Merlin pulls his horse to a stop, grasping for Arthur’s hand. “Arthur, hey, hey, look at me. Just look at me.”

Arthur does so. His bottom lip is trembling and Merlin’s heart clenches.

“We will figure it out,” Merlin tells him firmly. “Whatever it is. We will figure it out.”

Arthur exhales shakily. His fingers tighten on Merlin’s, before he nods jerkily. “Thank you, Merlin. Thank you.”

“We can wait a little longer to see Aithusa,” Merlin offers. “Take a longer path and ride together for a bit.”

Arthur shakes his head. “No, I want to see Aithusa now. I’ve missed her.”

“Me too,” Merlin agrees, sensing that Arthur doesn’t want to speak on the topic any longer, though he’s open to revisiting it later. If that wasn’t the case then Merlin would push, stop Arthur before he can retreat and shut down. But that isn’t what Arthur is doing now; he’s postponing any discussion in favour of some momentary relief, and Merlin can’t begrudge him that.

Kilgarah is waiting for them in the clearing. Arthur stiffens a fraction, but Merlin doesn’t even notice, too focused on the white dragon beside him.

He slides off his horse, running over to her. Aithusa barrels into him and Merlin sobs as he catches her in his arms. She butts her head into his chin, making loud, excited sounds.

“A touching reunion,” Kilgarah booms. “You have been busy, young warlock.”

Merlin looks up at him through blurry eyes, Aithusa cradled in his arms. “It’s done, Kilgarah. It’s finally over.”

“It is,” Kilgarah agrees, as soft as Merlin has ever heard him. “Magic once again reigns free in the kingdom of Albion. Fear and persecution has dogged the steps of our kind for years, but no more.”

“I’m so happy,” Merlin blurts, scratching Aithusa’s head as she purrs.

Kilgarah smiles. “As am I, Merlin. As am I. And it is all thanks to you.”

Merlin rubs at his eyes, tears now streaming down his cheeks. “It’s been so long, old friend.”

“Your journey has not been easy,” Kilgarah says quietly. “I know how you have suffered, young warlock. But now you have a bright future, shining ahead of you. We all do, because of you.”

Arthur steps up beside him, movements cautious. He reaches out a hand and Aithusa sniffs his fingers, chirping in delight. Arthur softens, running a hand over her flank and then the spines of her back.

“Young Pendragon,” Kilgarah greets him.

Arthur nods his head stiffly in return. “Kilgarah.”

That’s a lot more polite than Merlin had expected. It possibly has something to do with the weariness in Arthur’s eyes. Or the way Aithusa is nuzzling his palm as he strokes over her scales. Most likely a combination of both.

“I owe you my thanks for your part in this,” Kilgarah continues. “I hear you’ve lifted your father’s ban.”

“I told you last time I wish for peace between our people,” Arthur says evenly. “My intentions have not changed.”

“Thank you for looking after Aithusa,” Merlin interjects.

Kilgarah huffs, dipping his giant head down to blink at the little dragon. “It was my pleasure. Though I know she missed you terribly.”

Merlin cuddles her close. “And I, her. She can stay in the castle whilst she’s young, but I’ve found a cave for her to live in eventually. I know dragons aren’t meant to be tamed.” He drops a kiss to Aithusa’s smooth scales. “She’ll be free to go as she pleases.”

Kilgarah nods his head approvingly. Arthur takes Aithusa carefully from Merlin’s arms, murmuring about checking on the horse, a subtle way of giving them some privacy.

Merlin lingers behind. “This won’t be the last time I see you, will it? Now - now magic is legal again?”

Kilgarah chuckles. “No, Merlin. Our paths will cross again.”

“I’ll bring Aithusa to come see you,” Merlin promises. “And you’re my first choice for babysitting duties.”

“I would prefer not to be,” Kilgarah sniffs, and Merlin laughs. “I had forgotten how much energy the younglings have.”

Merlin grins. “I’ll see you soon.”

Kilgarah spreads his wings, preparing to take flight. “We are all in your debt, Merlin. I look forward to seeing the future you and the young King will build. I count myself privileged to be alive to witness it.”

Merlin watches him fly away, until Kilgarah disappears on the horizon.

When he walks back over to the horses, Arthur is already in the saddle. Aithusa is perched on his lap, chewing at the reins. Arthur is trying valiantly to extract them from her fangs, to no avail.

“Aithusa, drop that,” Merlin orders. Aithusa blinks at him, then spits the reins out onto Arthur’s legs. “Good girl.”

“Yes, good girl,” Arthur echoes, looking down at the spit drenched leather that’s now staining his breeches.

Aithusa chirps at him, then with absolutely no warning launches herself into the air. It’s only Merlin’s reflexes that catch her before she tumbles to the ground. “Aithusa, no! You can’t fly yet!”

Aithusa peeps sheepishly. Merlin hauls himself up onto his mare, a little precariously with the dragon clinging to his chest, but they manage it. Once seated, Aithusa crawls up onto his shoulder, draping herself around his neck.

Arthur draws his horse closer to Merlin’s, nudging him gently. “Ready to go home?”

Merlin reaches up to stroke Aithusa’s tail, and she curls it around his wrist. “Yes. Let’s go home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun fact I absolutely despise the phrase 'making love' however, I think Arthur would use it and it fit the scene so ... it's in this story ONCE and never again lmao. i did not completely hate writing it in this given the context
> 
> forever bitter about how bbc merlin forgot aithusa basically and we never got to see her and merlin interacting really. justice for aithusa 2k20 
> 
> i am sure there are a lot of typos in this, i did check through but i am the depressed kinda tired right now, so i may have missed some. it'll get better though
> 
> lazily considering giving mordred a boyfriend in the last couple chapters, cause it's what he deserves. i also really want merlin and arthur to an argument at some point cause a) angst and b) couples do not get on all the time and conflict is interesting, i would like to see them manage a disagreement as a couple. but like??? i have no idea what to make them fight about so give suggestions if you want lool 
> 
> anyway thank you for reading this, i love two soft boys being dumb and in love.


	30. Chapter 30

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the softest chapter yet which is saying something

Merlin is possibly a little nervous about the upcoming arrival of Princess Mithian.

It’s not as though Merlin hasn’t met royalty before. Aside from the blatant fact he’s sleeping with a King, he’s met dozens of princes and princesses over the years. Merlin’s never given a whit about their opinion of him. In his experience, a hunk of gold on your head doesn’t stop you from being a boorish, entitled prat.

But this time he really does care about their opinion, because Merlin isn’t a servant anymore. He’s the King’s consort. And court sorcerer of Camelot. If he messes this up he’ll bring shame on Arthur and the whole of Camelot. If he ruins things with Nemeth, the other kingdoms will follow suit and he will be single handedly responsible for Camelot’s downfall.

He says as much to Gwaine the next morning.

“Merlin,” Gwaine says slowly, popping a bit of sausage in his mouth. “Do you think you’re overreacting a bit?”

“No. I think I’m reacting the exact right amount.” Merlin squints at him. “Where did you get that sausage from?”

They’re sat by the side of the training field, watching whilst Arthur runs the knights through their drills. Technically, Gwaine is meant to be training, too, but he’d sneaked off when Merlin had showed up. Merlin suspects the only reason Arthur hasn’t noticed yet is that Percival is running interference and they’ve now moved on to focusing on javelin tossing.

“One of the squires got it for me,” Gwaine explains, breaking it in half and offering Merlin a bit.

“Gwaine, you’re not supposed to use the squires to bring you food!”

“It’s not like he minded,” Gwaine snorts. “I told him he could get a plate for himself whilst he was there. Does Aithusa want some?”

Aithusa is sprawled in the grass closeby, gnawing on a rawhide ball that Arthur got for her. Her teeth are sharp, but small, so she’s making a good go of it.

The reaction to Aithusa has been mixed, to say the least. Merlin has taken to walking the castle with Aithusa perched on his shoulder, or with her trotting behind him and occasionally getting distracted and trying to stalk the palace cats. Ironically, given how adorable she is, ambling about with a dragon has increased Merlin’s terrifying, all powerful sorcerer image ten fold. It’s great. None of the councillors dare address with him the fact he’s babysitting a random dragon, so Merlin is free to carry on, as casual as you please.

Gaius and Arthur of course treat Aithusa like a stray bear cub, (sweet, but watch the teeth), and the braver councillors try to follow suit. They don’t faint every time she trots past, but they keep a respectful distance. Which is probably for the best in Merlin’s opinion; Aithusa is not a tame pet. Merlin hasn’t forgotten how she hissed at the knights and launched herself at them after they rescued Merlin from Morgana. She’s still a dragon, his kin, and she is just as dangerous as Merlin if she chooses.

“No, Arthur spoils her enough as it is,” Merlin replies to Gwaine, licking his fingers. “And I’m serious, Gwaine. What if Princess Mithian hates me?”

“You know, I spoke to some of the soldiers from Nemeth. After we’d defeated Morgana.” Gwaine ignores Merlin completely and throws a chunk of sausage in Aithusa’s direction. Aithusa snatches it out of the air with a snap of her jaws. “None of them had a bad word to say about her. Apparently she’s always fair, compassionate. They think she’ll be a good ruler when she takes over from her father.”

“Great,” Merlin mutters. “Sounds like she has high expectations. I’m not ashamed of being a servant, I never will be. But what if the Princess thinks differently? Or if she hates sorcerers, like half this country?”

“Then Arthur will kick her out of Camelot himself, diplomacy be damned,” Gwaine snorts. “You deserve to be here, Merlin. You deserve to be ruling by Arthur’s side, whether you have ten titles or none at all.”

Merlin smiles at him hesitantly. “Thank you, Gwaine.”

Gwaine throws an arm around him and pulls Merlin into his side. “Princess Mithian will love you, Merlin. How could she not?”

“Gwaine!” Arthur bellows from the other side of the field. “Stop cuddling Merlin and get over here now!”

Gwaine winces. “Alright, I’m just - “

“_Now_, Gwaine, or I’ll use you for javelin practise!”

Aithusa, hearing Arthur’s shout, looks up and snarls in Gwaine’s direction. Gwaine gives Aithusa an unimpressed look, climbing to his feet. “I said I’m going, you little ball of scales.”

Aithusa huffs, eyes following Gwaine until he’s made his way back to practise. Merlin is watching, too, a little breathless at the sight of Arthur in the morning sun, hair tousled and pushed back from his forehead.

Arthur says something to Gwaine, jostling his shoulder playfully. Gwaine shakes his head, taking the javelin Arthur thrusts at him and walking over to the targets. Arthur turns and catches Merlin looking at him.

He lifts his hand in greeting and waves. Merlin’s heart does a funny little lurch, and he waves back, a stupid smile crossing his face.

He stays there for the rest of training, feet tucked beneath the wooden bench as the knights finish their drills. The sky is cloudy today, but that’s alright because Aithusa always runs warm. She climbs into his lap, burrowing her face in his stomach as Merlin smooths a hand over her scales.

Like this, he can almost forget his worries. Not quite, but almost.

-

The nerves are back in full force on the day of Mithian’s arrival. George is delighted at the prospect of more royalty and takes it upon himself to introduce Merlin to his ‘Autumn wardrobe.’

Merlin makes the mistake of asking, “Are seasons particularly picky about breeches, then?” and receives a look that could freeze the oceans for his troubles. He doesn’t ask any further questions - at least not whilst George is brandishing his sewing pins so close to certain parts of Merlin’s anatomy.

Admittedly, there is a chill in the air and Merlin is grateful for his cloak as they stand on the steps and await the entourage from Nemeth. The cloak is a dark blue with a white fur trim around the collar. George has dressed him in the lilac tunic, with the silver circlet once again nestled in Merlin’s hair.

It’s completely silent in the courtyard and Merlin can’t help fiddling with his cuffs.

“Stop that,” Arthur mutters, pale faced.

“I can’t help it!” Merlin hisses, drooping his hands and balling them into fists.

“You’re making me nervous!”

“Well, so am I!” Merlin snaps.

“Oh, I’m sorry, gods forbid we feel the same emotion. I’ll make sure there’s a rota next time!”

Merlin opens his mouth to retort and Leon clears his throat pointedly. Merlin glares at him. “Arthur started it - “

“Do you need to be reminded we are awaiting the arrival of a princess?” Leon says through gritted teeth. “Both of you, stop it.”

Merlin huffs and turns his gaze forward once again. Without looking at him, Arthur reaches out and carefully uncurls Merlin’s fist. He runs a thumb over the back of Merlin’s knuckles, before dropping his hand and folding his own neatly behind his back.

Merlin exhales slowly, then copies him. Together, they stand side by side as the procession makes its way into the city.

Princess Mithian looks like a princess out of a fairy tale. The entire castle seems to hold its breath as she is helped down from her horse, dainty and elegant. Her raven hair curls against her shoulders, held back from her face by her golden crown.

Merlin takes one look at her and feels more inadequate than he ever has in his life. Gods. Half of the council are probably already wishing Arthur had married someone like her.

“Princess Mithian,” Arthur says, descending the steps. “It is an honour to welcome you to Camelot.”

Princess Mithian curtsies, elegant in a way Merlin could never be. “Your highness, the honour is mine. My men have spoken highly of the care and hospitality they received whilst fighting under Camelot’s banner.”

Arthur takes her outstretched hand, kissing the back of it so lightly that Merlin isn’t sure his lips actually touched her skin at all. “We are most grateful to Nemeth for their aid in the battle.”

Mithian smiles warmly and Arthur steps back. “May I introduce my consort, Prince Merlin.”

Arthur holds out a hand and Merlin slips his own into it, bowing as gracefully as he can. “Your highness.”

“Prince Merlin,” Mithian returns, curtsying back. “It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

Merlin can’t remember if he’s meant to say anything back to that, his mind gone blank, but thankfully nobody seems to notice if he is.

For all Merlin’s years in the castle, being at the forefront of these occasions is completely different to his usual role behind the scenes. For once, he’s glad that Arthur has been trained in royal etiquette since he could talk, and follows his lead.

Arthur suggests a ride through the forest. Princess Mithian replies by commenting that she’s heard Camelot’s land is full of game. Arthur looks momentarily surprised, but then tentatively asks if Princess Mithian would like to join him in a hunt.

It’s not the usual request of a princess. Merlin has never been one to believe certain activities are exclusive to certain genders; Merlin is a man and he hates hunting with a passion. And Morgana was better with a sword than he’ll ever be. But whilst Merlin may not hold such beliefs, there are plenty of overbearing royal fathers who do. Who believe their daughters should not do anything more exerting than a gentle stroll around the flower garden.

It catches Merlin’s attention, and he realises that Mithian is hesitant as she waits for Arthur’s reply. As though waiting to see if Arthur will shut her down, suggest a more ‘appropriate’ activity for a lady. When Arthur enthusiastically asks Mithian what type of crossbow she prefers, her relief is clear - at least to Merlin, who's watching closely.

Perhaps Merlin isn’t the only one working out his place in all this.

Mithian is swept away by her entourage to dress in something more suitable for a hunt. Arthur and Merlin remain in the courtyard as the servants bring their horses round. Arthur is speaking to Leon in hushed tones. The stable boy passes Merlin the reins for his mare, and he fusses over her, grateful for the distraction.

The mare is a sweet chestnut that Merlin privately names Cinnamon. She has a blaze of white down her forehead, and she snuffles at Merlin’s hand as he slips her a treat.

Arthur finishes talking to Leon and walks over to Merlin, tone low as to avoid attention. “Well, things aren’t going too poorly so far.”

Merlin shrugs, threading a hand through Cinnamon’s mane. “It’s been five minutes, Arthur. I’m sure there’s still time for a disaster.”

Arthur snorts, holding his hand out to Cinnamon, who lips at his palm. “Always the optimistic, Merlin. Princess Mithian seems alright so far, doesn’t she?”

“She’s very beautiful,” Merlin says, before he can help it.

Arthur blinks at him. “She’s - I suppose so. Merlin, are you - “

Arthur is cut off by Princess Mithian trotting towards them on her own horse, now dressed in riding leathers and a thick cloak. She must be a good horsewoman, because Merlin recognises the grey she’s riding as one of the more spirited horses in Camelot’s stables.

Merlin mounts his horse quickly, before Arthur can pry any further. Arthur glances over to Mithian and mounts his own ride, but not before giving Merlin’s thigh a reassuring squeeze.

Mithian is a good horsewoman, as it turns out. And an excellent hunter, something that delights Arthur. Mithian, in turn, appears delighted to meet a member of royalty who asks her more interesting questions than her thoughts on the weather.

This works quite well for Merlin, who in all honesty hates hunting. Merlin gets to hang back with Mordred and discuss a book of curses he found in the library, whilst watching in amusement as Arthur and Mithian compare who’s killed the biggest stag.

They call for a halt a few hours in, to stop for lunch in a little clearing. The hounds bark excitedly, though the horses are more than used to them and don’t startle. The dogs flop down into the grass after a whistle from Leon, panting heavily.

Merlin is reigning Cinnamon in, when someone clears his throat from below him. Merlin glances down to see Arthur standing beside his horse, arms outstretched.

Arthur grins at him. “If I may?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, even as a blush spreads over his cheeks. “I can get off a horse myself, you know.”

“I’m _trying_ to be _romantic_, Merlin.”

“By impersonating a footstool?”

“Why do I bother?” Arthur sighs, and Merlin laughs.

He turns so he’s sat sidesaddle, legs dangling over Cinnamon’s flank. Arthur’s hands grip his waist and steady him as he slides to the floor. His feet are firmly on the ground, but Arthur takes his time, stroking Merlin’s hip and smoothing his tunic where it’s creased from the ride.

Mithian is arranging herself on the blanket, and Arthur leads Merlin over to where the picnic is spread out. The knights that accompanied them and the Nemeth guards sit nearby, an illusion of privacy even as Leon’s sharp eyes scan the forest for threats.

“Prince Merlin, are you fond of hunting?” Mithian asks politely.

Merlin focuses on cutting his meat. “I often accompany the King on hunts.”

Mithian smiles. “Perhaps after lunch you can join us at the front of the party? I hope I haven’t taken your usual place.”

Merlin winces. “No, no, your highness. That’s quite alright. Hunting isn’t actually my - favourite activity.”

Mithian’s eyes go wide. “Oh, I am sorry. What do you enjoy doing? I had hoped to spend time with both of you during this visit. My men spoke so highly of you.”

Merlin is so floored by that he can’t answer straight away, Mithian’s dark eyes patient and earnest. Arthur interjects easily. “Merlin is very adept with a bow and arrow.”

Mithian nods. “Yes, King Arthur has been telling me how skilled you are at archery.”

Merlin blinks. “He has?”

Mithian smiles softly. “Yes, he had much to say about how hard you trained.” Her tone is cautiously teasing as she glances at Arthur. “I did think we might scare away all the deer at one point with all our chatter.”

Arthur laughs good naturedly, one arm wrapping around Merlin’s waist. Merlin leans into, returning Mithian’s smile shyly. The rest of the day passes pleasantly enough, with both Mithian and Arthur making kills that are whisked away by the kitchen staff to prepare for the feast tonight. The conversation is light, as it always is the first few days of a royal visitation. The more serious negotiations will be held off until the end of the princesses’ stay.

It isn’t only the dead deer that’s whisked away as soon as they’ve stepped foot back in Camelot. George shoves Merlin into his third outfit change of the day, pushing and prodding him until he deems Merlin fit for the banquet in Nemeth’s honour.

Arthur is hurried away by his councillors on return, then later ambushed by George too. He and Merlin don’t see each other again until the start of the feast, which does nothing to ease the tightness in Merlin’s chest. And during the feast there’s no time for privacy, not with Princess Mithian and the delegate from Nemeth to entertain.

Merlin is quieter than he usually is, though that’s easily hidden with all the commotion. There’s a juggler at one point and a musician; it’s not like he can chatter through that, so he’s sure he’s gotten away with it.

Well, he’s sure until the very last course. Mithian is deep in conversation with Sir Leon, and Arthur steals the opportunity to elbow Merlin gently. “You haven’t eaten any of your pudding.”

Merlin looks down at his plate. “Oh. I’m not hungry.”

Arthur frowns at him. “It’s apple pie. It’s your favourite. I asked the cooks to make it specially.”

“I’m not that hungry. You can have it if you like.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, then shrugs easily. “Alright, then.”

If Merlin wasn’t so troubled by his thoughts, then he’d probably notice the gleam in Arthur’s eye. Instead, he just shuffles over to make room as Arthur takes Merlin’s spoon and scoops up a handful of the pie.

He holds it a loft, clearing his throat. “Merlin.”

“Hm.”

“For god’s - Merlin. Can you see this stain on my cloak?”

That catches Merlin’s attention, and he turns to Arthur, opening his mouth to ask, “What stain - “

He’s cut off by Arthur shoving the spoonful of pie into Merlin’s open mouth. Merlin is too surprised to do anything but chew instinctively, the apples tart on his tongue. Arthur was right, it is his favourite.

Once he’s swallowed, Merlin glares at Arthur. “What are you doing?”

Arthur grins innocently, gathering another spoonful. “You said you weren’t hungry, but you hadn’t actually tried it yet.”

“So you decided to force feed me to make sure,” Merlin says drily. “Like a mother with a baby.”

Arthur shrugs. “A baby bird, maybe.” He pauses, then clears his throat. “You know, because you’re named after - “

“Yes, I _got_ it, Arthur,” Merlin snaps, and Arthur bursts into laughter. Arthur knows Merlin would have gotten the joke, he’s just being obnoxious and terrible in an attempt to make Merlin laugh. It’s not working, obviously, not matter what Merlin’s traitorous smile might suggest.

He snatches the spoon off Arthur before he can feed him again. “Give me that. I can do it myself.”

Arthur cups his cheek, eyes soft. “Alright, little bird.”

Leon catches his attention and Arthur turns to him, joining in the conversation. Merlin eats the rest of his pie and counts the seconds until they can leave.

-

Longing for bed may have been a mistake, however, because Merlin realises abruptly that bedtime means it will just be him and Arthur. Alone. In Arthur’s chambers, and no one and nothing to distract them from Merlin’s looming insecurities.

Merlin decides to play it cool. Admittedly, this hasn’t worked well in the past, but Merlin is going to really commit to it this time.  
Unfortunately, Merlin quickly discovers Arthur has absolutely no intention whatsoever of also playing it cool.

“What’s wrong, Merlin?” Arthur asks the moment he’s dressed for bed.

Merlin freezes by the desk, one leg in the air as he uses it for balance as he removes his boots. “I don’t know what you mean.”

Arthur sighs, leaning back on his hands as he sits on the edge of the mattress. “Don’t, Merlin. You’ve been off all day.”

Merlin picks up both of his boots and tucks them neatly by the wardrobe. “Have I?”

“Is it me?” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin startles, turning to Arthur in shock. “What?”

Arthur is staring at him unflinchingly. “Merlin, I have to entertain Princess Mithian. There are certain expectations, a tour around the castle, a hunt, as it were in this case. I am sorry if my attentions ever appeared, to you or the princess, to be more than that - “

Merlin’s blood turns to ice in his veins and he hurries to Arthur’s side. He crouches in front of him, resting his hands on Arthur’s thighs. “Arthur, no, no. I would never think. I’m not - I’m not _jealous_.”

Arthur continues as though he hasn’t heard him. “I would never be unfaithful - “

“Arthur, stop,” Merlin says desperately. He stands up abruptly, and cups Arthur’s face in his palms. “You are the most honourable man I know. I have never doubted that before and I don’t now. And I’m - I’m sorry if I made you feel as though I did.”

Arthur calms at that, though his eyes are still filled with worry. “Then what is it?”

Merlin bites his bottom lip, but hiding his feelings has only caused more trouble. Like Arthur thinking Merlin believes Arthur’s cheating on him with a princess who's been in Camelot for a day. Shit.

“I’m not jealous,” Merlin repeats hoarsely. “I’m - self-conscious.”

Arthur stares at him. “Self-conscious? Merlin, what do you mean?”

“This is the first time royal visitors have come to Camelot since I was crowned consort,” Merlin explains miserably. “Their opinions of me matter. And I used to be your servant, Arthur. What must they all think? Especially when you compare me to a princess like Mithian.”

Arthur doesn’t answer. Instead, he grabs Merlin’s wrists and pulls Merlin down onto his lap and into a fierce hug. Merlin buries his face into Arthur’s neck, sinking into his arms. The pressures of the day finally overwhelm him and he grips Arthur tightly, letting him take all his weight.

As ever, Arthur bears it without strain. His arms are strong as they wrap around Merlin’s waist, and he speaks directly into Merlin’s ear. “Merlin, I know what the people of Camelot think of you.”

“That I don’t have a clue about royal etiquette,” Merlin offers, only half joking.

“That you _saved their live_s,” Arthur says fiercely. “That you saved their city. You heal their sick, tend to the ill - “

Merlin flushes, drawing back to look Arthur in the face. “Arthur - “

“It’s true, isn’t it?” Arthur challenges, his eyes blazing. “The people of Camelot don’t want Princess Mithian, Merlin, and neither do I. They want _you_. Servant and sorcerer alike. Because you’re kind. Strong, brave, compassionate. They don’t care about anything else.”

He curls a finger under Merlin’s chin, forcing him to meet his eyes. “The people don’t care about air and graces. And I know you don’t either. Wasn’t it you who told me having different forks at the table was horseshit?”

“It’s a waste of silver,” Merlin mumbles, mouth ticking up.

Arthur smiles. He leans forward and kisses Merlin softly. “I know it’s overwhelming at first. I can still remember the first time I visited another kingdom.”

Merlin sniffs. “You can?”

Arthur nods, settling Merlin more securely on his lap. “My father didn’t let me leave Camelot until I was twelve years old. He was too worried before that about the heir of Camelot being harmed.” Arthur pauses. “Or that I’d embarrass myself if I was any younger.”

Merlin rests his hands on Arthur's shoulders. “Where did you go?”

“A kingdom to the south,” Arthur answers softly. “I was so nervous, so anxious about forgetting everything I needed to do. Every rule I had to follow. Morgana had only been in Camelot for a few months, I - I wanted her to come with me. So did she. But father said no, so I was the only child at court.”

Arthur brushes Merlin’s hair back from his forehead. “It felt as though everyone was staring at me.”

Merlin exhales. “So you felt like this, too?”

  
“I did,” Arthur agrees. “But, Merlin, I was born into this. I’ve had years to get used to the scrutiny. I’ve doubted myself hundreds of times, compared myself to other princes, other knights. This is your first time experiencing what that’s like.”

Merlin swallows. “I was overreacting.”

“You weren’t,” Arthur says immediately. “You _weren’t_, Merlin. But you have to promise me two things.”

“What?”

Arthur cups his cheek. “Whenever you doubt your place by my side, I want you to think of every person in Camelot who owes you a life debt.”

Merlin flushes. “Arthur - “

“Every one,” Arthur orders sternly.

Merlin can’t help giggling. “That might take some time.”

“Then I will apologise for my consort’s vacant expression, and skilfully move the conversation on,” Arthur says seriously, and Merlin laughs, pushing Arthur’s hand away.

“Alright. What’s the second one?”

Arthur catches his hand, linking their fingers. “Tell me when you feel this way? I can’t help if you don’t.”

Merlin brings their hands to his mouth, kissing Arthur's knuckles. “I will. I just got tangled up in my own thoughts.”

“It’s alright. I know I do, too, sometimes.”

“For what it's worth, I like Princess Mithian,” Merlin admits. “She seems kind.”

Arthur hums, pulling Merlin backwards onto the bed. He draws the covers over them, Merlin’s magic dealing with the candles. “She’s a good shot with a crossbow.”

“Boring,” Merlin yawns, resting his head on Arthur’s chest.

Arthur huffs, dropping a kiss to his hair. “Go to sleep, Merlin.”

Merlin curls closer into Arthur’s chest and does just that.

-

Merlin decides to speak to Mithian the next morning. He feels strangely guilty, even if he doesn’t harbour any ill will towards her. He finds Mithian in one of the corridors. Her face lights up when she sees him, though Merlin has no idea why.

“Prince Merlin!” Mithian calls. “I was looking for you.”

Merlin blinks. “Oh. I was looking for you, too.”

Mithian looks around the empty corridors, before stepping forward. “Prince Merlin - “

“Please, just call me Merlin,” Merlin says quickly. He still hasn’t got used to the new title. George had explained it at length, but Merlin had only listened to the important parts. The King’s consort is raised to the status of prince. George had casually mentioned that if they were married then Merlin would also be King, but that was too much for Merlin to comprehend right now.

Mithian smiles. “Then you must call me Mithian. Merlin, I wanted to make sure I didn’t cause offence yesterday. It’s only you were so quiet during dinner. I know I spent a lot of time with the King.”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, no, you didn’t. I had my own reasons for being quiet.” He takes a deep breath. “Perhaps we could talk more whilst I show you around the armoury?”

Mithian’s arches an eyebrow. “Not the gardens?”

“Somehow I didn’t think flowers were one of your interests,” Merlin grins, and Mithian laughs.

She slips her arm into the crook of his elbow. “Lead the way.”

Merlin clears his throat as they make their way through the castle. “You’ll have to forgive me for being so quiet at yesterday’s feast. This is my first time meeting another kingdom as the King’s consort.”

“Then we have something in common,” Mithian says kindly. “This is my first time making a diplomatic visit without my father.”

Merlin looks at her. “It is?”

Mithian nods. “Yes. It’s a huge responsibility. I am representing all of Nemeth whilst I am here.”

“I know a little of what that’s like,” Merlin offers tentatively. “You should know, all the Nemeth soldiers spoke so highly of you after the battle.”

Mithian looks surprised, then pleased. “They did?”

“Yes.”

Mithian squeezes his arm. “Thank you, Merlin. Then you should know the knights of Camelot speak very highly of you, too.”

Merlin groans. “You didn’t speak to Gwaine, did you?”

“Sir Leon, actually,” Mithian laughs. “And, er, a very tall knight. Percival?”

Merlin sighs. “That’s alright then.”

They step out into the courtyard, servants bowing their heads as they pass. Mithian accepts his offer of help down the steps, her dress gathered delicately in one hand.

“You know, this is also the first diplomatic visit where I have not been expected to return with a husband,” Mithian says cheerfully. She winks at him. “I think I have you to thank for that.”

“It’s a sacrifice someone had to make,” Merlin says seriously, and Mithian snorts.

They’re almost at the armoury now and Mithian clears her throat. “So, perhaps you could give me some help with my archery?”

“Oh, of course.”

“I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to hit a dragon in midair, though,” Mithian says carefully, and Merlin’s gaze snaps to hers.

“You know about that?” Merlin answers, equally as careful. Mithian doesn’t look as though she’s going to launch into a bigoted rant, but you never know.

“It’s all my knights can talk about,” Mithian offers. “They say you shot the dragon straight out of the air.”

Merlin ducks his head, pulling open the door of the armoury. “Then you know I have magic.”

“I do,” Mithian says quietly. “All the five kingdoms know King Arthur has appointed a court sorcerer and repealed the magic ban. It was quite a shock, though less so after the news of the druids trading freely again.”

Merlin nods slowly. “And what are Nemeth’s views on sorcery?”

Mithian folds her hands neatly in front of her. “Sorcery is not outlawed in Nemeth. It isn’t practised freely, mostly to appease King Uther when he was alive, but sorcerers aren’t actively persecuted the way they were under Uther’s rule. The distance between Camelot and Nemeth afforded us some discretion. Besides, the dispute over the lands of Gedref were always Uther’s priority.”

Merlin nods slowly, crossing his arms. “And you?”

Mithian looks taken aback. “Me?”

“You told me what _Nemeth’s_ views are. I want to know _yours_.”

Mithian takes a step forward, resting her hand on Merlin’s forearm. “I don’t believe in slaughtering innocent people just because they are different. One day I will be Queen of Nemeth. I wish to rule a kingdom that is fair and just. Where everyone is free to be who they are in their heart.”

Merlin relaxes. “You sound like Arthur.”

Mithian smiles. “It’s part of the reason I was so excited to meet the both of you. I’ve heard so much about the changes in Camelot. Arthur and I are both young, both taking over heavy mantles. When I’m Queen, I want allies I can trust. Allies that will not belittle me, or treat me differently because a young woman sits on the throne of Nemeth.”

“Arthur will be a great king,” Merlin says softly.

“You both will be,” Mithian corrects. “Besides, even if I despised sorcery, I’m not a fool. I’ve only heard rumours of your powers, Merlin, but I’ve heard enough to know I want Camelot as an ally. Not an enemy.”

Mithian’s eyes are hopeful. She drops her hand from Merlin’s forearm, shoulders straight and chin raised as she waits for his response.

Merlin feels strangely light, his heart fluttering in his chest.

“We are entering a new time,” he manages eventually. “Camelot would welcome a partnership between our two people.”

Mithian breaks into a smile, her cheeks dimpling.

“As long as I don’t have to come on anymore hunting trips,” Merlin adds. “Leave them to Arthur.”

“Deal,” Mithian laughs. “Now, I believe you promised me an archery lesson?”

Merlin lifts a bow off the wall and hands it to her. “We can’t practice on the wyvern though, he’s gone to sulk by the riverbeds.”

Mithian laughs again. (Merlin doesn’t tell her he’s not joking.)

-

By the end of the week, a fair and balanced treaty has been negotiated between Nemeth and Camelot. It’s an agreement that will benefit both kingdoms for years to come, and the buoyant mood in the castle is infectious.

There is a large feast on Princess Mithian’s last night in the castle, as well as the promise of music and dancing later on. Merlin is feeling settled and content during the festivities that night; at each smile from a Nemeth councilman, at each laugh from the knights, Merlin feels his confidence grow. He is meant to be here. He helped this happen.

Arthur watches Merlin find his feet with a mixture of awe and pride. Merlin deliberately wears red and gold that night, and flushes every time Arthur looks at him like he set the stars in place.

Whilst the plates for the main course are being cleared away, Arthur wraps his arm around Merlin’s shoulder, drawing him close to his side. Merlin snuggles into him, beaming when Arthur kisses his cheek.

“It is good to see you so happy,” Arthur murmurs, voice thick with affection.

“As long as you don’t force feed me the desert, I’ll remain so,” Merlin says, laughing when Arthur scowls at him. “No, I am happy. This treaty will benefit both our people.”

“Hm, helped by you,” Arthur murmurs. “Your mind is as sharp as your tongue, little bird.”

“That isn’t happening,” Merlin tells him, even as his stomach erupts into butterflies.

Arthur blinks at him innocently. “What are you talking about, Merlin?”

“Little bird,” Merlin repeats. “You already have enough pet names for me.”

Arthur shrugs. “Fine. What about little dragon?”

Merlin takes a subtle look in Mithian’s direction, then whispers, “We already have a little dragon.”

Aithusa has spent the week carefully hidden in their chambers, locked and heavily warded by both Merlin and Mordred’s magic. Camelot may be aware of her existence, but Merlin isn’t keen for the rest of the world to see her yet. He hasn’t forgotten how desperate Borden was to get his hands on a dragon egg. He shudders to think what a baby dragon would go for on the black market. No visitors will be seeing Aithusa until she’s the size of a horse and able to breathe fire. Not if Merlin has his way. (Which he will. People have long since learnt not to interfere when it comes to the matter of Aithusa.)

“True,” Arthur concedes. “What about - oh, hello, Mordred.”

“Good evening, Sire,” Mordred says, coming to a halt in front of their table.

Merlin reaches up and links his fingers with Arthur’s, where Arthur’s arm lays across his shoulders. “Everything alright, Mordred?”

Mordred glances behind him. Merlin peers around Mordred to where he can see Percival and Gwaine sitting close by. They both give Mordred a thumbs up. Mordred sighs wearily and turns back around. “Sir Gwaine and Sir Percival would like to know when the dancing will begin, My Lord.”

Arthur raises his eyebrows. “And why is that?”

Mordred looks pained. “I believe a bet is involved, but honestly the specifics of which don’t bear repeating.”

Merlin stifles his laugh. “Mordred, do you want to come sit beside us?”

“Yes, please,” Mordred says plaintively, and Merlin snorts. He waves his hand and Mordred’s chair levitates from beside Gwaine and floats over to take its space by Merlin’s side. From across the room Gwaine mouths the word ‘traitor’ at him. Merlin sticks his middle finger up in response. Arthur discretely gestures for the deserts to be brought over as a distraction.

“I’ve never met a princess before,” Mordred whispers to Merlin, as a plate of pie is set in front of them.

Merlin doesn’t point out that _Morgana_ was technically a princess, not when Mordred is looking so awed, drinking in the celebrations around them. “I’ve met more of them than I can count. Princess Mithian is lovely, though.”

Mordred nods. “Was Gwaine telling the truth? Is there really dancing?”

“There will be later, after all the food.”

“Do I have to dance?” Mordred asks worriedly.

“Only if you want to,” Merlin reassures him, which Mordred looks relieved by.

After the plates are all cleared, Arthur stands, a goblet in his hand. The room falls quiet and Arthur lifts his glass. “A toast. To Nemeth, and the alliance made between our people.”

The toasts echoes around the room, glasses clinking together. Arthur’s eyes crinkle as he smiles out at the crowd. “And now that we’ve had more than enough mead, let the dancing begin.”

Excitement fills the air as the musicians start up a jaunty tune. Leon stands and offers Mithian his hand, leading her onto the floor. Arthur turns to Merlin, palm outstretched. “Merlin?”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Merlin smirks, and lets Arthur pull him to his feet. “Wait - Mordred, only dance if you want to!”

Mordred nods seriously, smiling when Merlin clasps his shoulder. Gwaine and Percival make a beeline for Mordred as soon as Merlin leaves, so Merlin doesn’t feel too worried about him being left on his own.

It’s a simple dance, luckily, and Merlin is grinning as he stands opposite Arthur. “I’m not sure how good I’ll be at this.”

Arthur lifts his palm and Merlin steps forward, pressing his own palm to Arthur’s. “You’ve danced before. There was that time at the tavern.”

“I don’t remember any of that night,” Merlin admits, he and Arthur circling each other, their hands the only point of contact.

“Probably for the best,” Arthur says. “I didn’t know somebody could actually be that awful at - “

Merlin steps on Arthur’s toe, and Arthur pulls a face at him. He drops his palm, and roughly pulls Merlin in by the waist instead. “I was only being _honest_, Merlin.”

“These aren’t the right steps,” Merlin tells him snidely, even as he wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“So?” Arthur says carelessly, hands settling on Merlin’s hips. “Who's going to say anything? I’m the King and you’re an all powerful sorcerer.”

Merlin rests his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. “They’re all copying us now. Leon is trying desperately to keep his hands above Mithian’s waist.”

Arthur snorts. “Always the gentleman.”

Merlin hums contentedly as Arthur sways them in a slow circle. He presses his mouth to Arthur’s shoulder and Arthur makes a soft noise in his throat.

“We can dance like this in Ealdor,” Merlin murmurs, drawing back to stare at the planes of Arthur’s face. The candlelight flickers over Arthur’s skin, painting him in gold.

“Just like this?” Arthur teases gently.

“Perhaps a little different,” Merlin concedes, smiling as he rests his forehead against Arthur’s. “We’ll be under the sky.”

“Under the stars,” Arthur agrees, and catches Merlin’s mouth with his. The kiss is slow, and sweet, and Merlin’s toes curl in his boots as he parts his lips under Arthur’s.

“Get a room!” Gwaine hollers from behind them, and they break apart, dizzy and breathless and laughing into each other’s mouths.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have never wrote Mithian before and I hope people liked her in this. Personally, I have a whole head-canon of Mithian and Merlin and Arthur being young rulers, who are both both brave and determined and passionate, who want to create a new and better future and form super strong alliances together. If I had many time I have vaguely ideas of including Elena in that, too, but this is not that story.
> 
> Anyway I love Mithian. I will always maintain Arthur should have married her if he had to marry any one. Not because I hate Gwen, but because honestly both Gwen and Arthur deserved better. Season 5 is probably the season that does Gwen dirtiest because she's spends it all either a) evil or b) waiting for Arthur to come back from a fight after begging him not to go? or they just forget her friendship with merlin completely, like when she begs Arthur not to go after him when he goes missing. that might be s4 i don't remember. anyway gwen deserved better and her romance with arthur just felt flat for me personally
> 
> i think it would be a lot for Merlin to suddenly be thrown in the spotlight. he's always been in the background and that must be a bit alarming. so i think he'd be nervous and uncertain and need a bit of reassuring. 
> 
> ANYWAY this was really really soft. i love two tender idiots.
> 
> comments are the best, hoep you enjoyed !


	31. Chapter 31

They don’t actually make it to Ealdor straight away, because taking time off is tricky when you’re King and court sorcerer of Camelot. But they somehow make room in both their schedules, and Arthur smugly announces their intentions to the knights two weeks later.

“You’re going where?” Leon says flatly.

“On holiday,” Arthur repeats.

Leon stares at him. “Arthur, you haven’t taken a holiday in your _life_. Merlin definitely hasn’t.”

“Who’s fault is that?” Merlin mutters.

Arthur glares at him. It’d be a lot more effective if he wasn’t holding Merlin’s hand under the table.

“They definitely need one,” Gwaine interrupts. “If I have to walk in on you two going at each other one more time - “

“Gwaine!” Percival hisses. He claps his hands over Mordred’s ears, making him jump. “There are children present!”

“I am one and twenty!” Mordred snaps, slapping Percival’s hands away.

Leon ignores all of them with an air of a man who has done it many times before. “Where will you go?”

Arthur smiles. “Ealdor. Merlin wants to visit his mother.”

Merlin nudges Arthur. “Can’t Leon take a holiday when we come back? He deserves one.”

Leon looks pleased. “Thank you, Merlin.”

“Are you handing out holidays now?” Gwaine demands. “I’m your best friend, but once you get the power you use it to give _Leon_ a day off.”

“If you did some actual work, I’d give you a holiday,” Arthur says flatly.

“I am the only one - “

“Who’s looking after Aithusa?” Percival interrupts.

“Mordred,” Merlin says absently, watching in amusement as Gwaine and Arthur scowl at each other.

Mordred’s eyes go wide. “Me?”

“Well, you’re the only one with magic - “ Merlin begins, then pauses when he sees the look of awe on Mordred’s face.

In hindsight, it probably is quite a big deal to Mordred that Merlin is entrusting him with fifty per cent of the remaining dragon population.

“I’ll take good care of her,” Mordred vows seriously. He looks so determined that no one has the heart to make fun of him.

“I know you will,” Merlin smiles at him. “I’ll tell her to behave herself.”

Gwaine crosses his arm. “Whose in charge of the wyvern?”

Merlin blinks at him innocently. “What wyvern?”

“The one perched on the southern tower, hissing at people as they walk by,” Gwaine says through gritted teeth.

Merlin widens his eyes. “That’s still here?”

“_Yes_!” Gwaine and Leon yell.

Arthur bursts into laughter, throwing his head back as Gwaine launches into a rant. He drops Merlin’s hand to drag him into his lap instead, pulling him back against his chest.

“Fine,” Merlin laughs. “Fine, Gwaine. Mordred, do you want to be in charge of the wyvern, too?”

Mordred shoots a pointed look Percival’s way. “I think that’s too much responsibility for a child to handle.”

Arthur drops his forehead against Merlin’s shoulder, muffling his laughter. Merlin grins, resting his hands on top of Arthur’s where they circle his waist. The upcoming promise of a trip away from the castle has them both giddy, loose and excited in a way that Merlin can’t remember being in a long time. Arthur can’t keep his hands off him, or maybe it’s the other way round, a cat’s cradle, tangled up in each other, entwined.

Percival waits patiently until Gwaine’s finished mouthing off, before turning to Merlin. “I’m glad you’re both getting a break. It’ll be nice for you to see your mother, Merlin.”

“I’m so excited,” Merlin says eagerly. “I haven’t seen her for so long.”

“Does she know you’re court sorcerer?” Percival asks.

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I wanted to tell her in person. She’ll be so happy.”

Gwaine leans forward. “Did she worry about you and your magic? When you were young?”

“All the time,” Merlin says bluntly. He’s not trying to be harsh, but the memories are difficult, saturated with pain and fear and guilt at the panic in Hunith’s eyes. “Ealdor isn’t that far from Camelot. Uther sent his soldiers over the border more than once. And Ealdor is a small village.”

There are various stricken expressions around the room, but Merlin looks to Mordred. Sure enough, his gaze is empathetic, eyes wide with shared pain.

“It will mean a lot to her to know you’re safe now,” Mordred says quietly.

Merlin clears his throat. “Yeah. It will.”

Arthur rests his chin on Merlin’s shoulder, holding him a little tighter. “It will be nice to see her again.”

“Not nice for her,” Gwaine says tentatively. “She has to meet Arthur again.”

Everyone laughs at that. Merlin catches Gwaine’s eyes to make sure he knows Merlin isn’t angry with him, because he’s not. Gwaine wasn’t asking out of ignorance, but out of genuine concern, because he wants to know what it’s been like for Merlin all these years.

Merlin makes sure to smile at him, and Gwaine beams back, clearly relieved. Merlin settles back into Arthur’s strong grip, and listens contentedly to the ongoing bickering.

-

Mordred is waiting for him in the courtyard the next morning, scrabbling to his feet as Merlin brings his horse around. He’s holding Aithusa in his arms; Mordred is the only knight that Aithusa likes. Merlin thinks it’s probably because Morded has magic, too, coupled with Mordred’s own sweet nature.

Currently, Aithusa is trying to climb up Mordred’s shoulder. This is proving difficult because Mordred is in armour, and her claws keep catching on his chain-mail. Mordred’s brow furrows as he carefully untangles her.

Merlin’s horse huffs in interest as Mordred approaches. Aithusa’s pauses in her attempts to use Mordred as a ladder, eyes flickering in Cinnamon’s direction.

“No eating horses,” Merlin tells her firmly. “Keep to the mice in the barn. Maybe when you’re bigger than a beagle, Arthur will take you hunting in the forest.”

Aithusa peeps, nuzzling into his fingers as he strokes her scales.

“Merlin,” Mordred says anxiously. “Are you sure you want me to care for Aithusa?”

Merlin clasps Mordred’s shoulder. “Of course I do. Who else am I going to ask? Gwaine?”

“No,” Mordred says automatically. “But what if I - “

Merlin interrupts him. “Mordred, I trust you. You’re the only one I’d trust to do this.” He shakes Mordred’s shoulder gently. “Besides, Aithusa won’t let anyone else come within five feet of her, so you’re kind of my only option.”

Mordred sighs, a smile flickering across his face. He looks down at Aithusa. “Can she breathe fire yet?”

“Not yet.” Merlin winces. “Knowing my luck, we’ll return to half the castle burnt to ashes.”

Mordred snorts. “You’re the court sorcerer of Camelot. I really doubt it’ll be much of an issue for you.”

“What has Merlin done now?” Arthur calls, leading Apollo over to them.

“Nothing yet,” Merlin says sweetly.

Arthur looks vaguely alarmed by Merlin’s sugary tone, casting a suspicious look his way before turning to Mordred. “Mordred, I expect you to keep practising your contracord whilst we’re away. You almost had it at training, a little more practise and I know you’ll have it down.”

Mordred nods. “I will, Sire.”

Arthur smiles at him, reaching forward to scratch Aithusa’s ears. “I have every faith in you. And I know you can look after yourself, but go to Leon if you have any problems, okay?”

Merlin clears his throat. “I mean, do go to Leon, but you can also throw them into a wall with your magic first.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. “Yes, thank you for stating the obvious, Merlin. I thought that was implicit. Come on, we need to leave now if we’re to make it to Ealdor before nightfall.”

“Bye, Mordred.” Merlin drops a kiss to the top of Aithusa’s head. “Bye, Aithusa.”

The excitement builds in his chest as soon as they get past the city gates. Merlin can’t help stealing glances at Arthur, his hair tousled and his eyes the colour of the September sky. He’s in casual clothing, a navy tunic that’s open at the collar and a dark cloak. Merlin knows for a fact that Arthur has at least two knives on him and a sword in his pack, but still.

They tease and laugh as the horses trot through the forest. Merlin challenges Arthur to an impromptu race at one point, which Arthur only wins because Merlin has an unfortunate encounter with a bush.

Around midday they stop for a picnic, Arthur unwrapping the bread and cheese and cold meat he’d packed in his satchel. They eat their fill then lie back against the grass. Above the light shines dappled green through the trees. The horses huff quietly as they graze nearby.

Arthur is lying with his head on Merlin’s chest, drawn into his side. Usually Arthur is the one to hold him, but Merlin doesn’t mind it this way. Arthur is a warm, heavy weight on top of him, his hair soft when Merlin runs his fingers through it.

“Merlin?” Arthur murmurs sleepily.

“Hm?”

“Do you think your mother likes me?”

“Well, she did the last time you met,” Merlin says thoughtfully. “But you’ve gotten considerably more irritating since then, so - “

“Shut up,” Arthur snorts, pinching Merlin’s hip and making him squirm.

Merlin laughs, wiggling away. “Of course she likes you, Arthur.”

Arthur relaxes minutely, but his shoulders are still tense. “It’s oddly warm for a September afternoon.”

“I used a warming spell.”

“Oh.”

Merlin smooths a hand over the tense planes of Arthur’s back. “My mother always asks about you in her letters.”

Arthur sits up abruptly, staring down at him. “She does?”

Merlin reaches up to cup Arthur’s cheek. “Yes, of course she does. She always worries you’re working too hard, or in danger. And I don’t even tell her half of everything we get up to!”

He can’t read the look in Arthur’s eyes, but he doesn’t have long to attempt to. As abruptly as he’d sat up, Arthur lies back down. He curls tightly into Merlin’s chest, one hand fisted in Merlin’s tunic. After a moment, Merlin drops his hand to the dip of Arthur’s waist, dragging his palm over Arthur’s spine in slow, repetitive movements.

“That’s nice of her,” Arthur says eventually. “It’s kind of her to ask about me.”

They lay there in the glade for far longer than planned, safe and shielded from the outside world. When they finally ride into Ealdor that evening, the sky is streaked with orange and pink, the sun hanging low.

Hunith is waiting for them, standing outside her house. Merlin makes a choked noise, scrambling off his horse. “Mother!”

He throws his arms around her, pulling her into a hug. He’s pretty sure he starts crying at one point, but that’s alright because Hunith’s eyes are also wet when he draws back. “It’s so good to see you.”

“I’m sorry I couldn’t come sooner,” Merlin blurts. “It wasn’t safe, I’m sorry - “

“You have nothing to apologise for,” Hunith tells him firmly. “Nothing at all. I’m just so happy you’re here.”

She cups his cheek, smiling widely. Merlin leans into it, something so intensely comforting about the feel of his mother’s gentle touch. He catches sight of Arthur, who’s been hanging back until now, looking down at his boots.

Hunith follows his gaze. “Arthur! It’s lovely to see you again.”

Arthur steps forward hesitantly, then freezes when Hunith pulls him into a hug, too. For a few seconds he does nothing, then he returns the embrace, leaning down with the height difference between them.

“Arthur caught some rabbits for supper,” Merlin says once they’ve separated.

Hunith smiles at them both. “That’s very kind of you, Arthur. I’ll start making a stew. Merlin, can you show Arthur where to put his belongings?”

Hunith takes the rabbits from Arthur and they follow her into the house. With Merlin sending money home each week, and with the threat of Kanen long gone, Hunith has been able to repair the little house and even add another room.

The cracks in the walls have been filled, the roof thatched with thick straw. Merlin paid a stone mason last year to add an extra room, so Hunith could have more space of her own. Hunith had refused any more gifts, but Merlin had finally gotten her to agree to a wooden bed being sent to her, under the proviso he would use it when he visited. He’d just accidentally commissioned two beds to be carved, so now neither of them have to sleep another night on a stone floor.

Arthur neatly places their bags by the bed, looking around curiously. “Did your mother have repairs done? It looks different to how I remember.”

“I send her money each month. She’d never spend it on herself, but repairs to the walls, to the roof, that’s practical.” Merlin shrugs. “When you’re a bad harvest away from starvation, you learn to be practical pretty quickly.”

Arthur rubs tiredly at his eyes. “Trade talks with Essetir are scheduled for next month. We should really discuss boundaries, make Ealdor officially part of Camelot’s territory.”

Merlin yawns. “Mum says they never get any trouble anymore, not after what happened to Kanen and his men. Everyone in a hundred mile radius is too scared of the King of Camelot storming in, if they so much as step foot in the village. But it would be nice to make it official.”

They wash up and then go to help Hunith in the kitchen. Arthur skins the rabbits whilst Merlin lights the fire in the hearth. Once the stew is bubbling away, Hunith goes to pick some herbs from the garden to add to it.

Merlin leans back against the wooden counter and breathes in the peace of the moment. The smell of meat cooking slowly fills the room. Outside, he can hear his mother humming as she gathers rosemary and sage.

There are no carts, no processions, no hive of servants and nobles and townsfolk. Just the sound of birds circling in the sky up above.

Arthur is stood by the pot, stirring it methodically with a wooden spoon. The tension in his muscles has uncoiled, like a rope with each knot worked out.

Merlin pads over to him on quiet feet. He slips his arms around Arthur from behind, leaning his weight against Arthur’s back. “I’d forgotten how quiet it was out here.”

“It’s peaceful,” Arthur agrees softly.

Merlin brushes his lips against Arthur’s neck. “You mean boring.”

“A little boring is nice sometimes.”

He’s too tired to kiss Arthur properly, resting his chin on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur stirs the pot once more, before moving it away from the edge. He turns in Merlin’s arms, lifting one hand to drag his thumb under Merlin’s eye.

“You look tired.”

Merlin slips his hand in Arthur’s. “Speak for yourself.”

Arthur looks as though he’d be rolling his eyes, if he had the energy to do so. As is, he only squeezes Merlin’s hand once, before dropping it. “Your mother will be back soon.”

Merlin frowns at the sudden change in topic. “So?”

“So I don’t want to start something she’ll walk in on,” Arthur says primly.

Merlin snorts. “So I take it you’ll be sleeping on the floor tonight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Arthur sniffs. “There’s no need when the bedroom has a locked door.”

Merlin shakes his head. “You city types are such prudes. Plenty of the village boys have been caught in the hay barn before with their trousers around their ankles.”

“I will not be doing anything remotely sexual with you in a hay barn, Merlin,” Arthur says flatly.

Merlin grins. “See you say that now, but just you wait until we’re - “

Hunith returns then, interrupting them. Arthur immediately begins to loudly ladle stew into bowls, glaring at Merlin all the while. Merlin has to turn around to hide his laughter.

-

Whilst they’re clearing away the breakfast plates the next morning, Arthur says, “I thought I might go for a ride in the forest. Hunt us something for supper.”

Merlin leans up to return the bowls to their cupboard. “It can wait until the afternoon, can’t it?”

Arthur clears his throat. “If I go now, I can take Apollo with me. Give him a good run.”

Merlin turns to look at him. “But we’ve only just got here.”

“I didn’t say you needed to come with me,” Arthur says slowly. His gaze flickers to the sigil pinned to Merlin’s chest. “I thought - I thought you could stay here this morning. Catch up with your mother properly.”

Immediately, Merlin understands what Arthur is trying to do, that he’s offering Merlin a chance to be with his mother alone, just the two of them. Arthur’s gaze is nothing but sincere, heartfelt and sweet in a way that makes his ribs ache.

Merlin swallows. “You’re a very good man, Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur ducks his head. “Not so good, I think.”

Merlin takes a step forward, using two fingers to raise his chin and kiss him softly. Arthur’s mouth is warm and chapped beneath his, something gold and languid travelling down Merlin’s spine as he sinks into it.

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes when they part for breath. “Arthur, I - I - “

“Merlin, one of the chickens has escaped,” Hunith interrupts, walking into the room. “Could you help me catch her?”

Merlin startles, one hand flying up to cover his swollen mouth. “Er - yes. Of course, yes.”

Hunith continues, completely oblivious to the way Merlin’s heart is ready to burst out his chest. “The latch is faulty, I’ve been meaning to ask Thomas to look at it.”

“I can look at it for you later,” Arthur offers. “I’m just off to exercise my horse, though. He’s a bit - excitable.”

Hunith looks dubious. “The large black stallion? Who tried to take your hand off last night?”

Arthur winces. “That’s just his way of being friendly, he doesn’t mean it.”

“I see.” Hunith doesn’t look convinced. “Well, you just be careful. Mind how you go.”

“_Mum_,” Merlin hisses. “He’s the King of Camelot, not a child having their first pony ride.”

Arthur laughs. “It’s fine, I appreciate the concern. I’ll hunt for supper whilst I’m out. Any requests?”

“We haven’t had deer for a while,” Hunith says tentatively. “And I can then store it for later in the week.”

Arthur nods politely. “I’ll see what I can do.”

He takes his cloak from the hook and wraps it around him. Merlin steps forward to do the clasp, even though Arthur doesn’t need the help. And then he kisses Arthur chastely again, too, even though Arthur turns bright red and hurries out the door straight after.

Hunith watches the door swing closed in amusement. “Right, I want you to tell me everything.”

Merlin does, though it takes at least two hours and three cups of tea. It goes cold the second time, when Merlin’s recalling what happened with Caerleon, so they have to throw it out. (Merlin tried a heating spell but it turned the water a funny grey colour, so Hunith didn’t want to risk it.)

She grips his hand each time a new person learns of Merlin’s magic, but as the tale unwinds, she grows gradually more relaxed. When they come to the part where Merlin was thrown off the battlements, Hunith demands to see his ribs, only satisfied when she has examined how well they’re healing.

There are more tears towards the end, though they’re happy ones now. Merlin breaks down completely when he tells her of the crowning ceremony, and she holds him tight, stroking his hair the way she did as a little boy.

“I’m so proud of you, Merlin,” she sniffs, wiping her eyes. “So proud.”

Hunith takes a shaky breath. “Though more importantly, I’m just glad to have you back here in one piece.”

Merlin rubs his face. “Well, it was a bit dicey there, for a moment or two.”

“And your friends?” Hunith asks anxiously. “Arthur and the knights, they look out for you?”

Merlin nods. “They do. I’m not - I’m not alone anymore.”

Hunith squeezes his hand. “And Arthur? He treats you well?”

Merlin flushes. “More than.”

“Good.” Hunith gets a bit teary again. “That’s good. He has a kind heart. I always said he liked you.”

“Mum!”

“It’s true,” Hunith insists. “Honestly, Merlin. How many princes travel into a different kingdom to save the home town of their servant?”

Merlin squirms in his seat. “Well, when you say it like that.”

“I suppose you both had other things on your plate,” Hunith concedes. “So is he going to ask for your hand?”

“Mother!” Merlin yelps. “I - why would you - I don’t - “

Hunith frowns at him. “I know things are different in the city, but surely people still _marry_.”

“I can’t get married!” Merlin protests. “I’m twenty four! I’ve just been made court sorcerer, I - I don’t know if Arthur even wants to marry me!”

“I do,” Hunith says bluntly. “He looks at you like you hung the stars. You could have a summer wedding - “

“No more talk of weddings,” Merlin groans. “Honestly, mother. I’ve only been home five minutes and you’re planning my upcoming nuptials.”

Hunith pinches his cheek. “Perhaps if you came home more often, I wouldn’t have to act so hastily.”

“I am sorry I didn’t visit, I - “

“Merlin, I’m only teasing.” Hunith smiles. “And whilst I’m so proud of all you’ve done, you know I’d love you regardless, don’t you?”

Merlin sniffles. “I do.”

“I’ve only ever wanted you to be free to be who you are,” Hunith murmurs. “You have such a kind heart, Merlin.”

“You can come to Camelot,” Merlin says eagerly. “Visit whenever you like. I can introduce you to all the knights.”

“That would be lovely,” Hunith beams. “I’d love to meet all your friends. Now, you better go see what Arthur is getting up to. Mary’s daughter is coming to collect some eggs. You remember Ella? She had the baby, you know.”

Merlin perks up. “She has? Boy or girl?”

Hunith sighs. “A little boy, but he’s got an awful rash. Nothing works to get rid of it.”

Merlin almost suggests he could help, opens his mouth to speak, but closes his jaws just as quickly. He doubts anyone in Ealdor wants his help; they probably still think of him as Hunith’s boy, the odd one who caused odd things to happen and who no one really wanted around. Arthur was the one who saved them from Kanen; Merlin suspects he was tolerated during that time as a means to an end. Besides, there were more important things to worry about then the gangly boy who was always a bit different.

“I’ll go find Arthur,” is all Merlin says in reply. “I’ll see you later, I love you.”

He gives her another quick squeeze, then leaves to find Arthur. He was intending to head to the woods, but the sounds of clanging and shouts catches his attention. Merlin follows the noises down the path to one of the old barns, where a group of men are working on repairs.

Abruptly, Merlin realises one of the men is Arthur. He and a man Merlin thinks is called Samuel, are carrying a plank of wood between them. Merlin watches in bemusement before Arthur finally realises he is there.

He waves in greeting, then says something to the man that has him laughing. Arthur smiles and collects Apollo where he’s grazing nearby, walking over to where Merlin is standing.

“What are you doing?” Merlin asks.

Arthur kisses him on the cheek, laughing when Merlin wrinkles his nose in disgust. Arthur is covered in dust and dirt. “Well, I was fixing a barn before you interrupted me.”

“I can’t imagine you were much help.” Merlin tilts his head to one side. “Don’t you normally pay someone to do that?”

“Piss off,” Arthur replies lazily.

“You are covered in dust.” Merlin stares at him. “I thought you were going hunting?”

“I did go hunting,” Arthur says. “But when I was coming back these men approached me, asked if I’d help them for a few coin. I said yes.”

“Do they know you’re the King?”

“I don’t think so,” Arthur says cheerfully. “I haven’t been to Ealdor in years. And I’m not exactly dressed the part.”

Merlin supposes that is true. In casual clothing and his hair dirtied from dust, Arthur looks nothing like a member of the royal household. He crosses his arms, gesturing behind him. “I think that man is coming to pay you.”

Arthur turns, sliding one arm around Merlin’s waist as he does so. The man - Samuel, Merlin was right - ambles over to them. At first, he pays Merlin no heed, eyes sliding over him. Then they slide back. And widen. And then slide to Arthur, then back, then to Arthur again. And then he just freezes all together and gapes at them both.

“Don’t worry about the coin!” Arthur calls brightly. “I’m glad I could help.”

Merlin grabs Arthur’s arm. “Right, we’re leaving before poor Samuel has a heart attack.”

Arthur lets Merlin drag him away, clearly an inch away from losing it completely. Merlin waits until they’re out of ear shot, before whirling on him. “_Don’t worry about the coin_?”

Arthur cracks up, almost doubled over in laughter. “His face!”

“And they say I’m the dramatic one!”

“In my defence, I didn’t think he’d recognise me!” Arthur protests, eyes wet with humour. “I just wanted to help!”

Merlin gives in and snickers, leaning into the arm around his waist. They’re still jostling each other when they walk into the kitchen. Hunith immediately orders Arthur to wash up and then they sit around the table together, answering Hunith’s questions about how Gaius is doing.

It’s an hour or so later when there’s a knock at the door. Hunith hurries over to it. “Ah, that’ll be Ella, come to collect the eggs.”

Hunith opens the door and a woman walks in, cradling a baby to her chest. Merlin takes one look at her and stiffens, going still. Arthur immediately notices, turning to him with a questioning look.

“Come in, Ella. I’ll just get those eggs for you.”

“Thank you, Hunith,” Ella says. She’s probably around Merlin’s age, with dark hair braided into a crown. He doesn’t instantly recognise her. “I’ll drop the milk from our goats over tomorrow.”

“Lovely.” Hunith reaches forward to touch the baby’s fine hair. “Ella, this is my son, Merlin.”

Ella glances over to them, smiling warmly. “Oh, Merlin! Hunith speaks about you all the time. You live in Camelot, don’t you?”

“He’s come to Ealdor to visit,” Hunith tells her, a proud look in her eyes.

Merlin swallows. “Did you grow up in Ealdor?”

Ella shakes her head. “Oh, no. I lived with my father, but I moved here last summer to help out when my mother hurt her leg.”

Merlin nods slowly. If she didn’t grow up in Ealdor, she can’t have been one of the children who excluded him from their games when she was little. Arthur’s hand settles on his thigh under the table.

He’s distantly aware he should probably say something back, but then Arthur is speaking. “How old is your son?”

Ella’s eyes light up. “He’s three months old.”

Arthur smiles, eyes soft as he runs a comforting thumb over Merlin’s knee. “What is his name?”

“Caleb,” Ella says proudly. She gazes down at little Caleb, whose eyes are blinking sleepily at all the conversation about him. “Merlin, your mother is lovely.”

“I know,” Merlin grins, and Ella grins back.

“She talks about you all the time,” Ella advises him. “About you living in Camelot. Is it true they’ve lifted the ban on magic?”

“Er, yes,” Merlin says cautiously. “Magic is no longer illegal there.”

Ella hums, stroking Caleb’s cheek. “I heard someone at the market say so, but wasn’t sure if it was true.”

“Maybe Essetir will follow next,” Merlin offers.

It’s a risk, as it always is, but it’s clearly the right thing to say, because Ella brightens. She glances down at Caleb, then up at the pair of them. “Would you like to hold him?”

Arthur looks uncertain for a moment, but then he nods hesitantly. Ella walks over and settles the sleepy child in Arthur’s arms. Arthur cradles him carefully, and the little baby blinks up at him.

Merlin peers over Arthur’s shoulder, a little in awe at the tiny person settled in Arthur’s arms. “Caleb is a nice name.”

“I thought so,” Ella says softly. “Hunith says you’re a healer, back in Camelot?”

Caleb makes a whiny noise. Merlin holds out a finger and Caleb clings to it, surprisingly strong. “Yes, I trained under the court physician.”

“He has a rash,” Ella explains. “Or at least, I think it’s a rash. Look, here.”

She gently untucks Caleb’s arm from his blanket. Merlin hums thoughtfully. “I don’t think it’s a rash. I think he just has dry skin. Is it worse when he’s around hay or straw? Or is there damp in your home?”

“There’s damp,” Ella says immediately. “We have a broken pipe and it gets in through the windows when it rains. But it’s okay, my brother is visiting next week and he’s going to fix it.”

“That’s probably aggravating the condition,” Merlin explains. “I could show you how to make a paste that would help? I’m sure there must be the right plants around here.”

Ella’s eyes widen. “I - thank you. Yes, please.”

Arthur lightly rocks Caleb. “Would you like help with the repairs?”

Ella shakes her head. “Oh, no. My brother will sort it.”

“Even the damp?” Merlin asks sceptically.

Ella pauses, gaze flickering over them in consideration. “Even the damp. Trust me, my brother will fix it. He’s - _skilled_.”

Arthur plays with one of Caleb’s tiny fingers and says casually, “Plenty of opportunities for skilled men in Camelot. If your brother is ever heading that way.”

“I will tell him so,” Ella says warmly, hope clear in her eyes. “Right, as comfortable as he looks, it’s time for this one’s nap. He’ll be grumpy all day otherwise.”

“Ah, I know what that’s like,” Merlin says innocently, smirking at the glare Arthur shoots his way.

Ella carefully collects Caleb from Arthur’s arms, expertly transferring him to her hip. Hunith bustles back in with a basket of eggs. “Here you go, Ella.”

Ella takes it gratefully. “Thank you, Hunith. I’ll see you soon.”

Merlin waves his hand in goodbye. “I’ll see if I can find those herbs for you and bring you the paste.”

Ella dimples at him. “Thank you, Merlin.”

Once she’s left, Hunith busies herself with arranging supper. Arthur and Merlin head to the little barn to settle the horses for the night. Arthur pushes him gently over to a hay bale, and Merlin perches on it, one leg drawn to his chest and the other dangling over the edge.

Arthur waits until he’s finished with Merlin’s mare, to say quietly, “You were nervous. When that girl came in.”

Merlin shrugs, seeing no point in denying it. Arthur makes his way over to Apollo’s stall, checking his water bucket. “Did you know her?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, she wasn’t one of the children I grew up with in the village.”

Arthur gazes at him, one hand stroking Apollo’s flank. “But you were worried she might be?”

“The village children weren’t always kind to me.” Merlin rests his cheek on his knee. “They knew I was - different, even if they didn’t know why. Children can always tell things like that.”

Arthur looks stricken. “I’m sorry, Merlin.”

Merlin shakes his head. “They were just frightened children. They didn’t know any better. It’s understandable they’d - avoid what unsettles them.”

Arthur clicks the latch closed then walks over to him. “You are too forgiving, Merlin.”

“Hm, you really don’t know me if you think that,” Merlin murmurs, parting his legs so Arthur can stand between them. He closes his eyes as Arthur tilts his chin up, placing a kiss on his forehead.

“Too kind hearted then.”

“Then it’s a good thing I have you, isn’t it? My - literal - knight in shining armour.”

“Anytime you need your honour defending from a group of children, let me know,” Arthur vows, and Merlin laughs.

Arthur draws him close, resting his cheek against Merlin’s hair. Golden rays splinter through the wooden ceiling, the familiar scent of horses and hay surrounding them as Merlin settles into Arthur’s arms.

-

That night, they slip out to the meadow beyond the creek, passing a skein of wine back and forth as they lie on their backs, pointing at the stars. Merlin feels drunk, on the wine, on the taste of Arthur’s mouth, on the way Arthur looks when he is etched in starlight.

“Caleb was a sweet baby,” Merlin murmurs, following the pattern of a constellation up above them.

“He was,” Arthur agrees softly. “So tiny.”

Without really thinking, Merlin asks, “Do you want children?”

Arthur turns to him. “Do you have something to tell me, Merlin?”

Merlin snorts. “Not even magic can do _that_. I was just - wondering.”

Arthur hums, turning his gaze to the night sky. “Well, obviously my father always drilled into me the importance of having an heir. But I always - I always knew if I married a woman then I couldn’t - I’d be too afraid that she would - “

He trails off and Merlin swallows, knowing exactly what Arthur is referring to. “I understand. And now you’re - now you’re with a man?”

Arthur narrows his eyes. “Are you _sure_ there’s nothing you want to tell me?”

“No!” Merlin insists. “Besides, I already have a child.”

He waits until Arthur’s choked on a good amount of his own spit, before clarifying, “I have Aithusa, obviously.”

Arthur glares at him. “Aithusa is not your baby.”

“She is. She’s my _kin_.”

Arthur shakes his head. “That’s not how that works. And even if it did, I can’t appoint Aithusa as my heir. I’m not sure she has the right priorities.”

Merlin laughs. “I’m not sure she’d be the best candidate, no. You should just appoint Mordred.”

Arthur turns on his side, propping his head on his hand. “You think so?”

Merlin rolls over so he’s facing Arthur. “I’d only just thought about it, but yeah. He’s literally half of us, isn’t he? A knight of Camelot and a druid sorcerer.”

“I had never thought of it like that.” Arthur reaches up to brush a strand of Merlin’s hair behind his ear. “He is, isn’t he?”

Merlin leans into Arthur’s touch. “Fate is funny like that, sometimes.”

Arthur runs his thumb over Merlin’s cheekbone. “It must be nice for you to be home.”

Merlin catches Arthur’s hand, turning into it and brushing a kiss against his palm. “It’s nice to be back in Ealdor, yes. But it’s not my home.”

Arthur’s eyes are the colour of the night sky, dark and endless and inviting. “It isn’t?”

“No,” Merlin murmurs. “Camelot is my home.”

“Merlin,” Arthur asks, voice low and sending shivers down his spine. “What were you going to tell me after you kissed me?”

Merlin inhales, nerves fluttering in his stomach. “When - when do you mean?”

“This morning.” Arthur wets his lips, and that little reminder, that confirmation Arthur’s just as nervous as Merlin is, settles something in his spine. “Before - before I left.”

“I was going to tell you I love you,” Merlin says softly. “I love you, Arthur.”

There’s a terrifying, exhilarating moment where Arthur says nothing. Merlin’s heart feels ready to beat out of his chest, but then Arthur is kissing him, slow and deep and achingly sweet.

“I love you, too,” Arthur rasps when they break apart. “I love you, Merlin.”

They kiss until their mouths are swollen and Merlin can’t think straight. Merlin has never felt closer to Arthur than he has in this moment, nor more in tune with his magic. His eyes are golden as he gasps into Arthur’s mouth, his veins alight as Arthur pins him against the earth. When Arthur drags his lips over the column of Merlin’s throat, Merlin arches his back and sees the clear, open sky.

Even when Merlin’s lips are bruised, he can’t help stealing a handful of short kisses. Arthur is just as eager, lingering time again, until he finally pushes Merlin back with a hand to his chest.

“I love you,” Merlin tells him, because he can, and beams when Arthur hauls him into his lap.

“And I you,” Arthur murmurs, hands settling on Merlin’s hips. “For some time now.”

Merlin flushes, heady with delight. “Since when?”

“Too many hours to count,” Arthur replies, and Merlin’s chest feels tight. “I wanted to tell you the night of the battle, but. Well. We were a bit preoccupied.”

Merlin cards a hand through Arthur’s hair. “I think battlefield declarations of love are best left to the love stories.”

Arthur hums. “Yes, not very practical, are they?”

“Because that’s what a boy dreams of,” Merlin teases. “Practicality.”

“I aim to please.”

Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck. “I don’t know when I fell in love with you. Sometimes - sometimes it feels as though I always have been.”

Arthur’s breath hitches. “Merlin.”

Merlin squirms, suddenly shy. “It took me a while to realise, though. Gaius didn’t know what to do with me.”

Arthur stares at him. “You told Gaius!”

“Well, I couldn’t tell you, could I!”

“Merlin, I’m exactly the person you should have told!”

Merlin rolls his eyes, ducking his head to brush a placating kiss to Arthur’s brow. “Well, I did in the end, didn’t I? Before you, I might add.”

“I didn’t realise it was a competition,” Arthur grumbles. He slides his hand under Merlin’s tunic, palm warm and calloused at it spans his back. “I shall have to tell you twice as often, to make up for it.”

His other hand dips beneath Merlin’s waist and it’s Merlin’s turn to go breathless. “I wouldn’t object to that.”

“Merlin, you know I never listen to anything you say, anyway,” Arthur smirks, and Merlin shoves him back into the grass and kisses him until the dawn.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had intended to post this chapter yesterday or Sunday but I had more to write and added in the barn scene and the BABY. So I'm glad I waited and did some editing.
> 
> I have a lot of personal head canons that Arthur would be very anxious about any wife he had dying in childbirth .. especially as even without magical deals being made, I imagine maternal mortality rates in the medieval times were pretty high.
> 
> I have a lot of head canons in general about Arthur and his mother.. ughhh of all my frustrations with the show, Ygraine being pretty much forgotten about season two if one of my biggest
> 
> I love, love regency romances more than anything and have been lazily dreaming about a regency merlin au. whatever i write next won't be in canon era because i am excited to try a different time for these two to be in. I'd also like to try gwaine and leon as a side pairing in whatever i write next 
> 
> anyway I love them being soft and in love expect a lot more


	32. Chapter 32

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the shortest chapter yet but they also have sex for the? fourth time? in over 200k words so. you can't have it all

They stay in Ealdor four days in total. Merlin is certain Hunith would like them to stay for ten times that, but they do have to return to Camelot eventually. Merlin tries no less than six times to convince her to move to the citadel, but she waves him away and promises to visit them soon.

His mother loads them up with food for the journey, eggs and meats and soft bread from the market. In return, Arthur hunts enough deer to stock her pantry for a year. Everyone is tearful when they finally say goodbye, but it is a bittersweet parting.

“There’s one more thing I need to do,” Merlin tells Arthur as they ride out of the village. “I won’t be long.”

Arthur looks surprised but nods. “Do you want company?”

“Not for this,” Merlin says softly. “But - later.”

Arthur, quick witted as he is, looks thoughtful. He’s probably guessed what Merlin is off to do. “Take my cloak, then. There’s a chill in the air.”

Merlin, helpless in his affection for this man, can only take the cloak with shaky fingers. Arthur smiles at him as though he understands, then nudges Apollo with his thighs to follow the path ahead.

Merlin coaxes his own mare on a diverging path towards the treeline. They ride until they reach a large oak tree at the edge of the forest, endless and sprawling towards the sky.

When Merlin slips off his horse, the world seems to still around him, hushed, as though reflecting Merlin’s own sombre mood. It is cold, the air cutting at his cheeks, and he pulls Arthur’s cloak tight around him.

Beneath the great oak, there is a pile of neatly stacked stones. The day Merlin stacked them, his eyes were blurred with tears and his clothes still smelt of smoke. Will’s body was burning on a pyre and Merlin could not bear to not have something - somewhere - to return to pay his respects.

The grass is damp as he lowers himself to the ground. He crosses his legs and stares at the stones. They are smooth and unblemished, even after all these years. Similarly, the oak looks as strong and healthy as the day ten year old Merlin stumbled upon on it.

“I miss you, Will,” Merlin says quietly. “I wish you could see all of this.”

He sighs, eyes already beginning to sting. “Magic is legal now in Camelot, did you know that? I’m free - my people are free. They never have to live in fear again. We’ve done so much good, Will, I - _I_ can do so much good. I’m going to make it so nobody ever has to feel ashamed of their gifts.”

“And Arthur, Arthur he - he loves me. I know you thought he was an entitled ass, and don’t get me wrong, he still is sometimes.” His laugh is half a sob. “But I love him. More than anything on this earth. I’m - happy. After all this time. After all this suffering. I’m finally happy.”

He exhales deeply, the dawn air filling his lungs. He holds out a shaky hand and a ring of flowers circle the stones; a circle of vibrant blue forget-me-knots.

“I hope you’re at peace, Will,” Merlin murmurs finally. “I know one day we’ll see each other again.”

He climbs to his feet on trembling legs. His mare trots over to him, pushing her face into his chest. He clings to her, clutching her soft mane until the tear tracks that stain his face dry.

Arthur says nothing when Merlin returns to the main road. He draws Apollo closer to Merlin’s mare, though, and fusses with his cloak, smoothing the collar and wrapping it more firmly around Merlin’s body.

“I’m ready to leave now,” Merlin rasps, and Arthur’s hand stills at the base of his throat.

Arthur taps his pulse point once. “Let’s go home.”

-

They are greeted excitedly by Aithusa once they arrive back in the citadel. She comes screeching down the castle steps, followed by a harried, but pleased looking, Mordred.

“Hello, Aithusa,” Merlin laughs, scooping her up into his arms. She chirps in pleasure, rubbing her snout into the side of his neck. Merlin thinks she might be scenting him when she does that, like a cat. “I missed you, too.”

He hands her over to Arthur for an equally enthusiastic greeting, before turning to Mordred. He is smiling widely and on impulse Merlin pulls him for a quick embrace. “It’s good to see you, Mordred.”

Mordred beams at him. “And you. I have been taking good care of Aithusa whilst you were gone.”

“I can see that,” Merlin says wryly, watching as Aithusa attempts to shove herself under Arthur’s tunic. “How are the others?”

Mordred inclines his head. “Everyone is well.”

Arthur finally joins them, Aithusa now perched on his shoulder with her tail curled against his neck. “Mordred! Have you been keeping out of trouble?”

Mordred grins. “Of course.”  
Arthur snorts. “I don’t believe that for a second. Come on, let’s go inside and you can tell me what disaster Gwaine caused in the four days we were gone.”

It may have only been four days, but the shadow of the battle makes everyone relieved to see their return. Merlin exchanges more greetings and smiles than he can count, pulling his friend’s close and grasping their arms, revelling in the proof under his hands that his family is safe.

An unexpected realisation comes when they retire to Arthur’s chambers that night. It’s as Merlin is dressing for bed that he realises abruptly they are alone. Alone in a room where his mother is not sleeping a wall away.

The realisation must strike Arthur at the same time, because the tension in the room immediately rises. They lock gazes for one heated moment, before Arthur is abruptly pushing him back against a wooden pillar and kissing him senseless.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, his hands fisted in Arthur’s shirt. “Arthur - ah - “

“Yes?” Merlin can hear the smirk in his voice, even if he can't see Arthur’s face, given he’s currently sucking bruises into the arc of Merlin’s neck.

“I - I want - “

“What do you want, sweetheart?” Arthur murmurs, one hand slipping under Merlin’s breeches.

“Wait!” Merlin blurts, gripping his wrist, and Arthur stops immediately. He’s withdrawn his hand in an instant and is stepping back, when Merlin catches it, linking their fingers together.

“Are you - “

“You didn’t do anything wrong,” Merlin reassures him quickly, warmth rushing his chest. “That’s not why I - that’s not why I said to wait. I want to - I want - “

Arthur is patient with him, eyes raking over his body in a way that makes his stomach lurch. Merlin takes a deep breath. “I want everything with you, Arthur.”

It takes Arthur a moment to understand what he means, before his eyes widen. “You mean - “

“Yes,” Merlin says firmly, even as excited nerves settle in his chest. “_That_.”

Arthur cups his cheek, leaning in to kiss him, hot and messy and bruising. “Merlin, are you sure?”

Merlin nods, breathless. Arthur swallows, even as his hands circle Merlin’s waist. They slip down, down, down below his breeches, and Merlin shudders as his calloused palms grip the cheeks of his arse. Arthur steps even closer to murmur in his ear. “Tomorrow night, then.”

Merlin’s breath hitches. “Not tonight?”

Arthur shakes his head, stepping away. The sudden space between them, the flood of cold air, has Merlin’s cock aching against his thigh. “Not tonight. You’re still tired from the journey.”

“Tomorrow then,” Merlin agrees, calmer than he thought possible, as though they’re negotiating a diary entry, not the evening Arthur intends to fuck him for the first time. Just the thought of it has his toes curling in his boots.

Some of it must show on his face, because Arthur rasps, “Come to bed before I bend you over it,” and Merlin quickly obliges, cheeks flaming.

Secretly, he’s not sure he’s going to make it until tomorrow.

-

The next day passes both torturously slow and incredibly quick. How Merlin manages to keep a hold of himself is anyone’s guess; he spends the day filled with inappropriate thoughts of Arthur’s hands, his mouth, the muscles in his back and how they shift under Merlin’s palms.

Whilst Merlin has never been fucked by a man before, he is not entirely green and more importantly he is a _physician_. He probably knows more accurate information about sex than half the castle. Certainly enough to swipe a couple of vials of oil and stash them in Arthur’s chambers.

Arthur makes their excuses after dinner that night and they leave the table hand in hand. Arthur can’t stop stealing kisses as they stumble their way along the corridor, eventually more or less falling onto the bed in a heap.

“Arthur!” Merlin laughs, breathless as Arthur collapses on top of him. “Ah, you’re crushing me! Have you been eating too many pies again?”

Arthur mock scowls down at him, hair falling into his eyes. “You know, Merlin, most people about to be tumbled into bed don’t start by calling their partner _fat_.”

“I’m not most people, obviously,” Merlin drawls, and squeals when Arthur digs his fingers into his ribs. “Alright, I take it back!”

“Good.” Arthur bends to brush his mouth against Merlin’s navel, his tunic rucked up to his ribs where Arthur had been tickling him. “So you should.”

Merlin props himself up on his elbows, reaching for Arthur’s tunic to divest him of it. He rids himself of his own shirt, and then they’re kissing again, Arthur’s arms tight around him as he pushes Merlin back into the mattress. Merlin wraps his legs around Arthur’s waist, drowning in the endless slide of how good this always feels between them.

When they break apart, Merlin deliberately rocks his hips up to meet Arthur’s. “Are you going to fuck me now?”

“I’m going to make love to you now,” Arthur corrects, then smiles with all his teeth. “I’ll fuck you later.”

Merlin squirms as Arthur tugs his breeches off for him. “On your throne?”

“What is it with you and that throne?” Arthur mutters, one hand splayed on Merlin’s stomach for balance as he kicks off his own trousers, both of them now naked. “How do you know it won’t be you fucking me?”

For a moment, Merlin is completely speechless. Arthur shrugs languidly. “I would let you.”

“You - you would?” Merlin stammers.

“Mh hm,” Arthur agrees, eyes glinting in the candlelight. “I should like that.” His face is so close to Merlin’s that he can feel his breath against his lips. “You, _claiming_ your King.”

Merlin lets his head fall back against the pillow, pressing the pad of his thumb to Arthur’s full bottom lip. “_Arthur_. I don’t know how to think when you say such things.”

Arthur laughs, nipping playfully at Merlin’s fingers. “I doubt it will make much difference, given you never usually think before speaking anyway.”

Merlin shoves at his shoulder. “If you don’t touch me in the next minute, I will never let you touch me again.”

“I’d hope it’d last more than a minute,” Arthur mutters, but he starts to kiss his way down Merlin’s chest.

“I’ve never lain with a man before,” Merlin reminds him, shuddering when Arthur’s tongue flicks over his nipple. “I - ah - so you’ll be setting the standard. Try not to - ah - “

His legs fall open easily as Arthur kneels between them, one hand on either knee. “I’ll try not to crack under the pressure,” Arthur says drily, then takes Merlin’s cock in his mouth.

Merlin groans, throwing a forearm over his eyes as Arthur swallows him down. His hips buck up instinctively but Arthur doesn’t complain, effectively taking Merlin apart with his mouth until Merlin’s scrabbling for purchase in the sheets.

Arthur’s pulls off with an indecent noise and Merlin’s eyes fly open. “Why are you - “

Arthur sits back on his haunches, deliberately letting his tongue dart over his lips as he makes eye contact with Merlin. “I don’t want you to come yet.”

“What about what I want?” Merlin mutters, throwing his arm over his eyes once more, in an attempt to hide how his bones have turned to liquid.

Arthur sounds endlessly amused as he presses an open mouthed kiss to Merlin’s knee. “Merlin, my heart, listen a moment.”

Merlin frowns, propping himself up on his elbows. “Is there usually this much talking before you bed a man?”

Arthur wraps a hand around the back of Merlin’s calf. “Hush, you insolent little tart. I only wanted to say I know this is your first time laying with a man. I’ll go slowly, alright? And if it hurts, or if you want me to stop, just say and I will.”

Merlin’s heart stutters at the sincerity in Arthur’s gaze. “I know, Arthur. I trust you.”

Arthur nods and kisses his knee once more, before reaching for the oil. He settles between Merlin’s legs and Merlin’s stomach bottoms out as one slick finger circles his rim, teasing. When Arthur finally slips a finger inside, Merlin has to bite down on his lip to stop himself crying out at the feeling.

Arthur works him open slowly, measuredly, as though he has all the time in the world whilst Merlin falls apart above him. There is a flush spreading down Merlin’s chest, his nipples hard and his breath coming out in pants after Arthur adds another, crooking them in a way that has Merlin keening.

“Gods, Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is hoarse. “You look so - you’re - “

“Arthur,” Merlin pants, hips stuttering as Arthur’s deft fingers brush that spot inside of him. “I’m ready, I - please - “

Arthur eases his fingers out and, irrationally, Merlin whimpers at the loss, at the feel of suddenly being empty, but then Arthur is crawling up his bed and kissing him desperately. Merlin grips Arthur’s face between his palms, parting his mouth instantly to let Arthur’s tongue swipe against his bottom lip.

“Please, Arthur,” Merlin pleads. “I want - I want to feel you inside me - I want - “

Arthur makes a choked noise, leaving him with one bruising parting kiss before pulling himself away. Despite the urgency, the headiness they’re both feeling, Arthur’s hands are nothing but gentle and slow as they spread his legs.

When he finally slides in, Merlin makes a choked, indescribable noise, his entire body tightening. He feels so full, so overwhelmingly full, and instinctively his legs come up to wrap around Arthur’s hips, pulling him in tighter still.

“Merlin,” Arthur rasps, making one shallow thrust that has Merlin mewling. “Merlin, sweetheart, look at me.”

Helpless to do anything but, Merlin stares up at him. Arthur’s hair is damp with sweat, pushed back from his forehead. His lips are parted as he stares down at Merlin like he is something incredible, something precious.

“Arthur,” Merlin gasps, one hand coming up to grasp Arthur’s shoulder. “Arthur, please, I - I need - “

“You’re alright?” Arthur double checks, even as Merlin can see how glazed his eyes are. “It’s not too - “

Merlin lets out a laugh that is more of an exhale of air than anything else. “I’m - it’s good, Arthur, just - just move - “

Arthur drops his head to Merlin’s shoulder, then begins to move in slow, shallow thrusts. Merlin lets out a low moan at the delicious pressure of it; it feels - good. Like a slow banking fire in his belly, the rolling thrust of Arthur’s hips, the heat and firmness of Arthur’s body above him and inside him, the sweetness of his mouth as they trade fast kisses, too lost in each other for anything longer.

Arthur’s hand cradles Merlin’s cheek, thumb rubbing over his jaw. “I’m just - I’m going to - “

Merlin is too lost in the moment to ask any questions, but he certainly doesn’t object when Arthur’s hand grasps his right thigh and keeps his leg bent enough that Arthur doesn’t run the danger of slipping out. It changes the position slightly and on Arthur’s next thrust, Merlin cries out as he hits a different place inside him.

“Gods, _Merlin_.” Arthur sounds wrecked. “You feel so - good, so tight. _Gods_, you feel - “

He increases the pace, fucking Merlin harder, deeper, a drumming rhythm that Merlin can feel in his spine, his teeth, his bones. They’re both close now, almost at the edge, and Merlin digs his nails into the curve of Arthur’s back as they rock against each other.

“Arthur, I’m going to - I’m close - “

Arthur kisses the curve of his ear, drags his mouth down to the ridge of his cheek. “Come for me, Merlin.”

His hand falls to Merlin’s weeping cock, stiff and red against Arthur’s stomach. He grasps the shaft and jerks, at the same time he thrusts into Merlin and hits the sweet spot deep inside him. Everything in Merlin spills over and he comes, eyes clamped shut as white hot pleasure engulfs him.

It doesn’t take long for Arthur to follow, a wordless cry escaping his mouth as he spills inside him. He collapses onto Merlin and Merlin has just enough energy to wrap his arms around Arthur’s shoulders, burrowing his face into his neck.

They lay there for who knows how long, wrung out and lax as aftershocks skitter through them. Merlin can feel Arthur’s heart beat against his own, pressed together as they are. There’s a dull, pleasant ache building between his thighs, one that has his toes curling in the sheets.

Eventually, Arthur lifts his head. His pupils are blown, the barest ring of blue against the black. He keeps his eyes fixed on Merlin’s face as he pulls out gingerly, his bottom lip trembling.

“It’s alright,” Merlin whispers, reading Arthur’s thoughts effortlessly. “I’m not hurt.”

“I love you,” is all Arthur replies, kissing the bridge of Merlin’s nose before climbing out of the bed.

He returns soon enough with a wet cloth. Merlin is quite content to lie back as he cleans the both of them, stretching languorously as Arthur drags the flannel against the soft skin of his upper thighs.

Arthur climbs back up the bed and Merlin draws him closer, arranging them both so that Merlin’s head is resting on Arthur’s chest. Arthur’s arm settles around his waist, fingers splayed against his stomach, and Merlin feels safe and warm and content in every possible way.

Merlin turns his head so he can brush his mouth against Arthur’s collarbone. “Arthur?”

“Hm?”

“I love you,” Merlin murmurs.

Warm fingers trace over his ribcage. “I love you, too.”

Merlin lifts his head, grinning at him. “I know, you just said.”

“Didn’t I promise I’d tell you twice as often?” Arthur retorts haughtily, and Merlin can’t help the ridiculous way his smile broadens until his cheeks ache with it.

He disentangles himself from Arthur’s grip, but only so they can lie side by side and see each other properly. He settles his head comfortably on his pillow, gazing at Arthur softly.

Arthur returns his smile, propping his head up on his hand. He lets his fingers follow the jut of Merlin’s bare shoulder. “Go on, then.”

“So soon?” Merlin says in alarm, and Arthur laughs.

“Not _that_.” Arthur’s hand travels down to Merlin’s hip, just resting above the curve of his arse. “Let me catch my breath first. No, I meant I want to hear your review.”

“Your - oh.” Merlin arches his brow. “Of course.”

Arthur’s grin is wolfish. “Did I - what was it? Set the standard?”

Merlin pretends to ponder the subject. Arthur gives him a look like he knows exactly what Merlin is doing, then eventually takes matters into his own hands and begins to tickle Merlin’s ribs.

“Alright, alright, Arthur, stop!” Merlin huffs. He bats Arthur’s hands away. “Fine. My review is - is four out of five. Definitely would let you put your cock in me again.”

“_Four_ out of five?” Arthur repeats incredulously, though his eyes are filled with mirth. “And what, pray tell, brought my score down?”

“Too much talking,” Merlin manages to get out, then squeals as Arthur tackles him.

Once they’ve finished squabbling like children, both sprawled out on the sheets, Arthur announces, “We should take a bath.”

Merlin blinks at him. “It’s the middle of the night.”

Arthur sighs, sitting up. “Where’s your sense of adventure, Merlin?”

Merlin rolls his eyes. “Yes, because there is nothing more adventurous than a bath.”

“You tell me, you’re the one protesting such scandalous behaviour.” Merlin is still flopped against the mattress and Arthur bends over him. It’s not the best angle but Merlin doesn’t care, not when he can tell how much affection Arthur feels for him from his kiss alone.

Arthur kisses him a second time, then climbs off the bed. He stretches, the arches of his feet lifted as his arms reach upwards. Merlin watches with lazy interest as Arthur walks across the room, completely unabashed of his nakedness.

Arthur drags the tub to the centre of the room, before raising a brow. “If you would, darling.”

Merlin waves a hand and within seconds the bath is filled with hot water, steam curling in the air. Arthur dips one finger below the surface, smiling in wonderment. By the time he’s padded back over to the bed, Merlin has managed to drag himself into a sitting position on the edge of the mattress.

“Come on, Merlin,” Arthur insists.

Arthur, Merlin is starting to suspect, is one of those people who are somehow full of endless energy after sex. Honestly, Merlin just wants to nap. He doesn’t get a choice in that, though, because then Arthur is bending down and scooping him into his arms.

“Arthur!” Merlin protests, instinctively clasping his arms around Arthur’s neck. “I can walk.”

“Yes, but this is more romantic,” Arthur smirks.

He holds Merlin effortlessly, as though Merlin is not a fully grown man. Merlin grumbles but secretly does not object to being manhandled by a very strong, very handsome man. Arthur’s steps are sure and steady as he carries Merlin across the room, never once stumbling.

Arthur carefully lowers him into the bath, where the steaming water is divine on Merlin’s aching muscles. Merlin sinks beneath the water with a groan, as Arthur climbs in after him.

Their legs tangle together and Merlin watches Arthur under lidded eyes. “Did you ever think we’d end up here?”

Arthur tilts his head back against the rim of the bath, watching the steam curl in the air in front of them. “It is more than I ever could have dreamed of.”

Merlin flushes, and hopes Arthur will blame it on the warmth of the water. Arthur’s voice is hushed when he next speaks. “You’re sure you’re not in any pain?”

“None at all,” Merlin returns quietly. “I should like to - do that again.”

Arthur smiles, uncharacteristically shy. “As would I.”

Arthur’s bashfulness emboldens Merlin. He drifts over to Arthur, lets the water move him effortlessly until he is seated in his lap. “I’ve been thinking.”

“Always a dangerous sport,” Arthur mumbles, as Merlin settles with a leg either side of Arthur’s thighs. The water dyes his hair a tawny colour.

Merlin loops his arms around Arthur’s neck, sliding a palm down the slick, warm skin of Arthur’s back. “I know how you can make up that scoring.”

Arthur huffs, hands resting low on Merlin’s hips. “Oh, I can’t wait to hear this.”

Merlin kisses his temple. “I will review my scoring if you - if you perform a grand romantic gesture!”

“A grand romantic gesture?” Arthur repeats flatly. “Have I not performed enough of those already? You’re spoilt.”

“You like spoiling me,” Merlin says archly, because at times he knows better than Arthur knows himself.

Arthur doesn’t bother denying it. “It’s true.”

He curls a finger under Merlin’s chin, lifting it to meet his eyes. “If I could, I would dress you in fine silks and furs every day. I’d find you every book on magic you could ever read.” He leans closer, breath hot against his ear. “I would build you the finest ships, so you could travel the world and seek out every magical creature within it.”

“Well,” Merlin says dizzily. “I - I - you can still do all of that. If you like. I - I don’t.”

Arthur laughs, a satisfied sound as he runs a hand over the juts of Merlin’s spine. Merlin takes a second to collect himself, to recover from the staggering depths of Arthur’s regard for him, then clears his throat. “Perhaps - perhaps a small romantic gesture, then.”

“Alright,” Arthur says agreeably, fully aware of how his words have affected Merlin and watching him with idle amusement. Merlin hates him. “What do you suggest?”

Merlin thinks. “You could - you could write me some poetry?”

“Poetry?”

“Yes,” Merlin says, warming to the idea. “How poorly you have treated your consort, for there to not be a least one sonnet about me.”

“Truly this is a grievous offence,” Arthur says solemnly. “What would you like me to comment on first?”

“Whatever takes your fancy,” Merlin says airily. “I wouldn’t want to stifle your creative talent.”

“Hm.” Arthur tightens his arms around Merlin’s waist, sinking them both down lower in the water. “Your eyes, perhaps?”

Merlin is all but sprawled against Arthur’s chest now, their mouths inches apart. He can’t help bridging the distance, joining their lips in a slow, easy kiss.

“Or you mouth,” Arthur continues softly. “Redder than winter berries, swollen and wet after I’ve tasted it with my own.”

“Arthur,” Merlin breathes, heart thundering in his chest. “I - Arthur.”

Arthur must be able to feel how Merlin is growing hard again against his hip, how his honeyed words are causing blood to rush through his body. Arthur’s palms travel down Merlin’s back to spread his cheeks, and his whole body goes taught when one finger drags along his crack.

“Or the noises you make,” Arthur utters, as Merlin listens, transfixed. “When I’m inside you.”

There is no more _poetry_ after that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have posted this at a reasonable hour for once so you get a vaguely lucid author's note!
> 
> full disclaimer, as i think i've mentioned before, i am not a huge fan of writing sex scenes. they take forever and you have to reread it for awkward typos and then i'm always like, is this realistic? yes this is about king arthur dicking down his magical boyfriend but? would his cock really do that? and it's a whole thing
> 
> having said that, i had so much fun writing this scene with them just being so /good/ together and so fun. i think the moment in the bath is my favourite thing i've written in ageees
> 
> arthur would absolutely be out there giving his man whatever he wants. leon's like, 'sir, merlin already has four sets of diamond earrings,' and arthur's like, 'yes, but consider this, i love him,'
> 
> merlin, meanwhile, is exceedingly smug in his white fur cape, diamond earring and three baby dragons hanging off his arm.
> 
> alternatively:
> 
> gwaine: arthur's built you.. another library  
merlin, sat in arthur's lap: have you considered, i am baby 
> 
> a couple have people have commented asking if merlin is getting pregnant in this and the answer if absolutelyy not. i personally don't like mpreg but if that's your thing you do you! no shame! people like different things :) but what merlin will not being doing in this story is giving birth lool 
> 
> we only have three more chapters of this to go. i have actually planned the final chapter now - in all honesty i didn't know how i was going to end this, but now i do. i am really looking forward to next chapter - which will be a lot of fun and mordred may get a bf. 
> 
> i have already started etching out the plot for my regency au, aided by me watching becoming jane three times over the past two days. (oh the tension between anne hathaway and jame mcavoy i cannot BREATHE during that dance scene.) i also watched pride and prejudice again too. merlin is a ringer for lizzie bennet imo though i don't think arthur quite matches mr darcy completely, so it won't entirely follow their story
> 
> anyway i love you all and i am not a little tearful that this is due to end soon.


	33. Chapter 33

In the end, it’s the amount of sex they start having that forces Merlin to officially move out of Gaius’ chambers.

He was only spending a night there, at best, every week, though most of his possessions were still in his old bedroom. Merlin just had never gotten round to moving them, perhaps a little reluctant, perhaps a little nostalgic. But now it just feels right.

And necessary. Because if Merlin wants Arthur to do that thing with his tongue again, the chances of that happening increase exponentially if he’s in Arthur’s bed.

That’s what leads them to Merlin packing his meagre belongings into boxes on a Thursday afternoon. One of the servants could have done it for him, but Merlin would rather do this himself.

“Will you miss me, Gaius?” Merlin asks, picking up an old spell book. “I’m going to miss you.”

Gaius looks up from his workbench, taken aback. “Oh, Merlin. Yes, I will miss you. Though, I doubt much will change. You spent every waking second of your time with Arthur, anyway, even before you started courting.”

“Gaius!” Merlin laughs. “I’m still going to visit you every day.”

Gaius smiles at him. “Merlin, I imagine I’ll see you every day, anyway. At council meetings, or around the castle. But you know you are welcome here at any time. My door is always open.”

Merlin takes the book Gaius hands him. “Are you going to hire a new apprentice?”

“I thought I might,” Gaius muses. “Though for what it’s worth, you would have been a great court physician.”

“Thank you, Gaius.” Merlin looks down at his hands. “That means a lot. It’s just I don’t think I’ll have time to continue my physician studies, not alongside being court sorcerer and King consort.”

“I understand, Merlin. Besides, I’m sure you’ll be consulted on magical cases.”

Merlin brightens. “So, I’ll be like - a consultant physician.”

Gaius laughs. “I suppose so.”

“I have so many titles now,” Merlin says wonderingly. “Can I interview your new apprentice?”

Gaius frowns at him. “What?”

“Can I interview your new apprentice?” Merlin repeats. “Once you find one. I want to make sure he or she is the right person for the job.”

Gaius looks amused. “I don’t see why not.”

“Great,” Merlin grins. “Arthur gets to interview people for positions all the time.”

He gathers the rest of his things, before leaning into Gaius, who squeezes his shoulders. “I’ll miss you, Gaius.”

“We have a council meeting in fifteen minutes,” Gaius reminds him wryly. “But I meant what I said, I’m always here for you, Merlin.”

“I miss you already!” Merlin calls over his shoulder as he leaves, and hears Gaius chuckle before the door closes.

-

“Public opinion on the magic ban being lifted is largely positive,” Leon announces during the council meeting that morning. “However, there does remain some apprehension, particularly in the older generations. We haven’t had to break up any skirmishes, yet, but it’s a situation that bears monitoring.”

“Thank you, Leon,” Arthur sighs. “We’d expected public opinion to be somewhat divided, at least at first.”

Merlin frowns. “We need something to bring everyone together. Remind them we’re all the same.”

Mordred clears his throat. “My lords, if I may make a suggestion.”

“Go on, Mordred,” Arthur says encouragingly.

Mordred sits up a little straighter, taking a deep breath. “We could hold a tournament. One that everyone could compete in.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Leon says slowly. “The people would enjoy it, tournaments are always a cause for excitement.”

Merlin hums thoughtfully. “We could have separate categories, one for those with magic, one for those without. We can’t mix the groups, not for a tourney, because if the sorcerers defeat everyone then it’ll just hurt their pride even more.”

“Unless we offer a mixed category as well,” Mordred offers quietly. “For those who choose to compete against anyone. If we make it clear for those matches there will be no holds barred, no one entering will be able to complain. They’ll know what to expect.”

“Then it’s settled,” Arthur orders. “We’ll hold the tournament within the next two weeks. We can say it’s in honour of Merlin being crowned consort.”

Merlin blinks at him. “Didn’t we already do that?”

“No, we crowned you court sorcerer.” Arthur tilts his head to one side. “Unless you want another ceremony.”

“One is enough,” Merlin says quickly. “Shall we move onto the next order of business? I’d like to discuss how the construction of the orphanages in the lower town are progressing.”

News of the tournament spreads like wildfire. Leon was right; within days there is an excited buzz around the citadel, chatter and laughter in the squares, bets already being made and practice underway.

The fact magic users are allowed to compete for the first time has the whole kingdom gossiping. Though there is trepidation, underneath it there is a current of excitement, of curiosity at what they might see.

Merlin had been explicitly clear that no sorcerers were forced to compete. Privately, he’d been unsure if anyone with magic would, or whether it was too soon for people to feel safe to reveal themselves.

But apparently having a sorcerer as the King consort of Camelot has had an impact, because within a few days there is a small group signed up for the magical portion of the tourney.

“No one’s been brave enough to put their name down for the mixed group yet, though,” Merlin advises Arthur a few afternoons later. “But I think people will. They’ll get drawn in by the thrill of it. Go big or go home and all of that.”

Arthur nods absently, tapping his quill against the parchment in front of him. “You know, Gwaine says the latest rumour in the castle is that you and I are going to compete against each other.”

Merlin looks up from where he’s sat cross legged on the love seat, Aithusa purring in his lap. “Is it?”

“That’s what Gwaine said. He even asked me if it was true, he wanted to get his bets in early.”

Merlin snorts. “What did you tell him?”

“That if I have to compete, I won’t be doing it against you.” Arthur lifts his head to smile wryly at him. “I’m not foolish enough to believe I’d be the victor in that outcome.”

Merlin grins at him. “I’d be gentle with you.”

“No doubt,” Arthur says drily, and Merlin snickers. “I think I will have to compete in at least one thing, though.”

Merlin frowns at him. “What? Why? I don’t want to sit in that box by myself the entire time. I won’t know what to - what to do, how I’m supposed to act.”

“It won’t be the whole time,” Arthur reassures him quickly, sensing Merlin’s panic. “But this is a tourney in your honour, as far as anyone knows. I’d be a pretty poor suitor if I didn’t compete for your honour, at least once.”

“Make sure it’s a quick event then,” Merlin grumbles.

“I was thinking the jousting round,” Arthur muses. “That’s always a crowd pleaser.”

Aithusa rolls onto her stomach and Merlin strokes her soft belly. “I suppose Aithusa can always keep me company.”

Arthur puts down his parchment. “Can you come read this missive to Gedref before I send it?”

Merlin carefully puts Aithusa on the floor, who promptly trots off - probably to find Mordred. He walks over to Arthur’s desk, peering over his shoulder. “It’s good. I would maybe change your phrasing in the third paragraph - yes, that bit.”

Arthur makes the suggested edits, then puts the paper aside. Merlin hoists himself up onto the desk, grinning down at Arthur as he swings his legs back and forth. “Gwaine was going to bet on me, wasn’t he?”

Arthur replies by tugging Merlin off the desk and into his lap with a thump. “He’s not a complete fool.”

Merlin rests his hands on Arthur’s shoulders, rubbing a thumb over his collarbone. “Do you have practice soon?”

Arthur settles back in his chair, adjusting Merlin more comfortably in his lap. “In about half an hour.”

Merlin leans in to kiss the curve of Arthur’s ear, subtly grinding his hips forward. “More than enough time, then.”

“Merlin,” Arthur groans, though his hands are already sliding under the edge of Merlin’s tunic. “I can’t be late to training.”

“Better get on with it then,” Merlin says breathlessly.

Arthur is twenty minutes late to training.

-

“Gaius!” Merlin yells, barging into his chambers a few days later. “Have you got any of that - oh. Hello.”

There is a boy standing in Gaius’ chambers, staring at Merlin with wide, brown eyes. He seems frozen in place, so Merlin asks coaxingly, “Are you looking for Gaius?”

“Yes,” the boy stutters. “I - I’m here to apply for the position of apprentice physician. Is this - is this the right place?”

“Oh, yes,” Merlin reassures him. “Here, take a seat. I’m sure Gaius won’t be long, I’ll make us some tea. What’s your name?”

“Daegal,” the boy replies, relaxing a little now it’s clear Merlin isn’t going to bite his head off for trespassing. “What’s yours?”

“I’m Merlin.”

“You’re _Merlin_?” Daegal squeaks, and nearly falls off his chair. “Prince Merlin, the - the court sorcerer?”

Merlin flushes, drawing a hand through his hair. “Just Merlin is fine.”

“Should I bow?” Daegal asks worriedly. “I’m sorry, I’ve never been to the city, I - “

“You don’t need to bow!” Merlin says hastily. “Honestly, I’ve never cared to stand on ceremony. I’m still getting used to all of this myself.”

Daegal still looks like a startled fawn, though he’s now back on the chair at least. “But you’re the court sorcerer. And the King’s consort.”

“I wasn’t always,” Merlin tells him gently. “I wasn’t even born in Camelot, I grew up in a tiny farming village. I was Arthur’s manservant for years before all of this came to pass.”

Daegal gasps. “Did Arthur know of your magic when you served him?”

Merlin shakes his head. “No, I had to keep it a secret. Especially before Arthur became King, when Uther was still alive.”

A shadow crosses over Daegal’s face. “That must have been hard. You must have been very brave.”

Merlin nods slowly. “It was frightening. There were times I was sure I’d be caught. But it was worth it. And Arthur’s a better man than his father ever was.”

“My mother had magic,” Daegal offers quietly. He looks down at his hands, twisting them in his lap. “Uther killed her for it. My father and I fled Camelot, but he died a few years later. I’ve been on my own ever since.”

“That must have been hard,” Merlin echoes.

Daegal swallows. “It was. When I heard the ban of magic had been lifted, I knew I had to come see for myself. It’s what my mother would have wanted. I thought - I thought I could make her proud.”

“I’m sure you will.” Merlin stands up abruptly. “Here, shall I show you how to make a simple tonic? And then you can impress Gaius before he’s even had a chance to speak to you.”

Daegal gazes at him in surprise. “You would do that? But you’re - you’re the court sorcerer. I’m nobody.”

“You’re somebody,” Merlin corrects him firmly. “It doesn’t matter where we were born, what titles we have. Every man is equal.”

After getting over some of his initial shell shock, Merlin discovers that Daegal appears to be a sweet boy. He’s a quick learner, following Merlin’s instructions to the letter, and soon they have a tonic brewing merrily.

“See, you’re a natural,” Merlin tells him. “You’ve got the gift.”

Daegal is watching the process in fascination. “I’ve never done anything like this before.”

“Neither had I, before I came to Camelot.” Merlin laughs. “You should have seen the explosion I caused on my third day here, after mixing two potions I definitely shouldn’t have.”

“I saw banners in the town as I came here,” Daegal comments tentatively. “Is there going to be a celebration?”

“There’s a tournament arranged.” Merlin nudges him gently. “For both sorcerers and those without magic. It’s the first time magic users have ever been able to compete. You should come watch.”

Daegal is about to answer, when the door creaks open, and Mordred pokes his head round. “Gaius, have you seen - oh.”

“Hello, Mordred. Did Arthur send you looking for me?”

When Mordred doesn’t reply, Merlin glances up at him. Mordred is still standing by the door. There’s a faint blush dusting his cheeks, and he’s staring at Daegal. Daegal, in return, doesn’t seem capable of looking away and is dangerously close to spilling acid over himself.

Merlin rescues the perilously unsteady vial of corrosive liquid, then clears his throat. “Mordred, this is Daegal. He’s going to be Gaius’ new apprentice. Daegal, this is Sir Mordred, one of Camelot’s finest knights.”

“You’re a knight?” Daegal inquires timidly.

(Merlin valiantly resists from pointing out that Mordred is dressed in full armour.)

Mordred bobs his head. “Yes. You’re - you’re Gaius’ new apprentice?”

(Merlin valiantly resists from pointing out that Daegal is standing in Gaius’ chambers, with Gaius’ previous apprentice, brewing a potion.)

Daegal smiles in a self deprecating kind of way. “Well, I haven’t actually been given the job yet.”

“I’m sure you will be,” Mordred blurts.

Daegal turns pink. “Oh. Thank you, Sir Mordred.”

Though Merlin could easily watch this play out all day, he has - regretfully - got a real job to do. He clasps a hand on Daegal’s arm, drawing his attention. “I have to go, but good luck, Daegal. You’ve clearly got a knack for this. Just remember Gaius looks sterner than he really is.”

“I’ll remember,” Daegal vows solemnly. “Thank you, Merlin.”

Merlin smiles, helplessly endeared. Daegal can be no older than nineteen. It’s impossible not to compare him to how Merlin was at that age, at how uncertain Merlin felt to step foot in Camelot’s sprawling city.

“And you must come to the tournament. I believe Sir Mordred is competing in it, too. Aren’t you, Mordred?”

“I am,” Mordred confirms. “Merlin, Arthur really does need you in the council chambers. It’s time to hear the people’s petitions.”

“Of course. I’ll see you soon, Daegal. Gaius will be along in a moment, I’m sure.”

Merlin is the first to slip out the door, hiding his smirk when he notices how Mordred lingers. He waits until Mordred has matched his stride, to comment, “Daegal seems nice, doesn’t he?”

Mordred hums. “Yes. He does.”

Merlin waits a beat, then thinks very loudly and very pointedly: _cute, too._

Mordred trips over a cobblestone. Merlin bursts into laughter, even as Mordred turns to him with a scowl. “Merlin!”

“It’s just an observation!”

“I do not - “

“What is all this about?” Arthur calls, from where he’s waiting with Leon at the end of the corridor. “Are you two - “

He cuts off as Merlin bounds up to him, throwing his arms around him and kissing him soundly. Arthur makes a noise of surprise but doesn’t complain, pulling him in closer and spinning them round.

Leon makes an exasperated noise and heads into the great hall, pulling Mordred along with him.

“Not that I’m complaining,” Arthur manages when they break apart. “But what’s brought this on?”

“I’ll tell you later,” Merlin promises, and buries his face in Arthur’s neck to hide his silent laughter.

-

All of the knights are participating in the tournament and once they all realise this, Merlin kisses goodbye to the rest of his sanity. Each of them are determined to win and the competitive atmosphere has reached ridiculous levels.

“Merlin,” Gwaine says for the fifteen time that day. “Will you practice with me?”

Merlin doesn’t look up from the book he’s reading. “No. Ask Mordred.”

“Mordred is my rival,” Gwaine hisses. “I can’t practice with him, he’ll learn all my moves.”

“He’ll learn them anyway, you only have three.”

Gwaine kicks his boot. “Some friend you are.”

Merlin lifts his head, using one finger to mark his page. “The tournament is in my honour, I have to be impartial.”

Gwaine grins. “Yeah, but you’re rooting for me to win, right?”

“Obviously.”

There had been some discussion about what category the knights would compete in. Mordred, being both a knight and a druid, was in the unique position of not fitting into any specific category.

Upon realising this, Mordred had fallen quiet. Merlin had been about to interject, when Gwaine had announced loudly he was competing in the mixed group. He wanted a challenge, Gwaine had boasted, but Merlin hadn’t missed the way his eyes had slid to Mordred’s unsure face.

Percival had easily agreed to competing in the mixed group, too, cheerfully agreeing that it would be a good bout to go up against something who had powers like Merlin. Mordred had put his name down the next day for the same category, and Percival and Gwaine have made a pointed effort to include him in their joking and gossip about the tournament ever since.

Better still, Gwaine’s bravado had convinced a number of sorcerers and non magic users to sign up for the mixed category, too. Leon will be competing in the group for non magic users, citing it was good to have the knights represented across the board, to show their support.

Merlin turns another page of his book, then sighs when he hears footsteps approaching. This time, it’s Mordred. “Yes, Mordred?”

Mordred worries at his bottom lip. “I was just wondering if - if you could help me. With my magic, there’s a spell that I can’t quite master.”

Merlin closes his book, smiling. “Oh. Of course, Mordred.”

He follows Mordred onto the training field, though he’s stopped by Gwaine’s affronted shout. “Merlin, are you helping him?”

Merlin laughs. “I’m sorry, Gwaine, he needs help with a spell!”

“A spell that will no doubt defeat me,” Gwaine snaps. “We’re rivals, Merlin!”

Mordred raises an eyebrow. “Are they always this competitive?”

“Just be thankful Arthur’s not here,” Merlin mutters. “Right. What spell was it?”

-

The day of the tournament arrives with much fanfare. In the morning George whisks him away to dress him in an outfit befitting a royal consort. For once, Merlin doesn’t complain; he’s going to be surrounded by hundreds of people there to see him. He wants to look his best.

George dresses him in a lilac tunic with a high collar. It’s autumn now and Merlin will be outside all day, so he pairs it with a snow white fur gilet, with black leather gloves that have the same fur around the trim. The silver dragon circlet is nestled on top of his head again, as well as the ear cuff that Merlin has come to treasure.

Arthur doesn’t compete until that afternoon, so he gets to sit with Merlin in the box for the morning’s entertainment. The tournament will span three days and George has already hinted that he has different outfits picked out for each one. Merlin rather suspects this is George’s idea of heaven.

Arthur certainly looks appreciative when George leads Merlin out to meet him. Merlin, feeling suddenly shy, falters and stops a few steps in front of him. “What do you think?”

Arthur steps forward and gently takes his hand. He runs his thumb over the leather of the gloves, then lightly turns Merlin’s hand over and brushes a kiss against the bare skin of his wrist.

Merlin shivers and Arthur straightens up. “You look beautiful, Merlin.”

Arthur takes his arm, Merlin’s hand resting in the crook of his elbow. “Are you nervous?”

“A little,” Merlin admits, as they make their slow way through the castle and towards the stands. “I’ve always been down on the benches before. Never up in the box in front of all the people.”

“I was nervous my first time, too. My father didn’t let us attend tournaments until we were older. Polite society deemed it unseemly for children to see and all that, though privately I think my father disagreed. I was twelve the first time and I sat so still, that father was sure I had fallen asleep! It can be daunting, but no one in the stands can see you that clearly anyway.”

“Then what was the point of George dressing me like this,” Merlin mutters, and Arthur laughs, squeezing his arm.

It is daunting at first, a sea of faces staring up at him. But Arthur is poised and confident, and eventually some of that begins to rub off on Merlin, too. He spots Gaius in the crowd, who waves enthusiastically and nudges Daegal beside him. Daegal is holding one of the miniature Camelot flags you can buy for a penny at the market, and he shakes it excitedly in Merlin’s direction.

Arthur opens the tournament and they are soon underway. Merlin has to admit that it’s fun watching from here, Arthur warm against his side, whispering in each other’s ears and pointing out their favourites.

Arthur leaves after midday with a kiss to the cheek for the joust. Merlin draws his fur tighter around him and sets his shoulders, but it’s not as bad as he feared.

At the end of each joust, the winner uses their lance to pass Merlin the ring they knocked off with it. Merlin just has to take the ring and say thank you, which is easy and actually kind of fun. Leon winks at him when it’s his turn, and Merlin beams back.

Arthur of course wins his round, and the cheers of the crowd are deafening as he removes his helmet. He grins up at Merlin, hair tousled and cheeks pink with exertion, eyes shining bright.

“I love you,” he mouths, and Merlin feels his own cheeks colouring.

Arthur hands his horse off to a squire, before heading to his tent to change. They’re breaking for lunch, anyway, so Merlin is able to follow him not soon after. Arthur is shirtless, wrapping a cut on his wrist where his lance split.

“My champion,” Merlin greets him dramatically, and Arthur laughs.

He sketches a low bow. “Have I earned your favour, my consort?”

“Just about,” Merlin shrugs, grinning when Arthur sweeps him into his arms.

Arthur kisses him, sweet and sound, before drawing back and staring at him intently. “How was it? Being up there on your own?”

“Not as bad as I thought,” Merlin admits. “Though I still prefer it when you’re there. It’s not like being in council meetings, where I know everyone and we’re there to discuss something specific. Events like this mean everyone is watching.”

Arthur kisses his forehead. “It definitely takes some time to get used to. But you already have the hearts of the people.”

“I hope so,” Merlin murmurs. “I want to be a good ruler. I want to make real change.”

“We will.” Arthur rests his forehead against Merlin’s. “I promise.”

They spend the rest of the afternoon curled together in their seats, Merlin’s leg slung over Arthur’s knee and his arm around Merlin’s waist. Aithusa is tucked under Merlin’s chair, and every so often Arthur will slip her a piece of meat. It’s perfect.

The next day, it’s the sorcerer's turn.

There’s a definite change in the air; not a bad one, but a tangible one, like the air before lightning strikes. Merlin will be opening the games today, and he rises to steady feet, his silver cloak swishing behind him.

There are fewer sorcerers competing than those that did the day before, but still a good amount, thirty or so people. All ages and genders; the youngest appears to be a woman of twenty odd, who has a determined look in her eyes. Merlin silently marks her as one to watch.

“It is my honour to welcome you to this tournament,” Merlin announces, voice carrying easily as a hush falls over the crowd. “And I thank you for taking part today, for showing us what your gifts can do. Too long those with magic have been forced to hide, to disguise themselves. But not today.”

Merlin lifts his chin. “Today, Camelot’s crowds cheer for _you_.”

The roar from the crowds almost knocks him off his feet. His chest feels tight as he sees more than one competitor wiping at their eyes.

Once the crowd has settled, Merlin continues. “Now, I would join you, but competing in my own honour seems a little ridiculous.”

There’s a ripple of laughter, and Merlin grins. “I wish you all the best of luck and let the match begin!”

“Well done,” Arthur murmurs when he sits back down, taking his hand. “You’re a natural at this.”

“Not quite,” Merlin protests, resting his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “I think I’ll still need some more practice. Ten pieces of silver says that the woman at the front is going to win.”

“One of your funny feelings again?”

“Something like that,” Merlin shrugs, and grins when the girl knocks a man off his feet with a gust of wind an hour later.

-

The final day of the tournament, Merlin and Arthur sneak down to the tents in the early morning, where Gwaine, Percival and Mordred are all getting ready.

“How are we feeling, gentlemen?” Arthur asks, pushing the tent flap open and stepping inside.

“There are no gentlemen here,” Gwaine says seriously. “Only warriors.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, throwing himself down in a chair. “You’re taking this way too seriously.”

“You just don’t get it, because you’re not a knight,” Arthur tells him, wandering over to Mordred and inspecting his armour.

“Thank god,” Merlin mutters. “Who’d want to be a knight?”

Percival walks over to collect his sword. “You know what we haven’t talked about yet?”

Gwaine tilts his head up to receive the kiss Percival gives him as he passes. “What’s that, love?”

Percival grins. “It’s Mordred’s _first_ tournament.”

Gwaine turns to Mordred in delight. “Oh, it is.”

Mordred gives them all a withering look. “Don’t start.”

Arthur slings an arm around Mordred’s shoulders, smirking. “I still remember my first tournament.”

“Are you nervous, Mordred?” Percival asks seriously. “It’s okay if you’re nervous. You can tell us.”

Mordred puts up a good show of ignoring them all, until Gwaine tries to ‘help’ with his armour, then there is a small scuffle that Arthur and Percival are somehow also drawn into. The tent almost doesn’t make it.

Once the commotion is over and the tent is still upright, Merlin clears his throat. “Is anyone going to give Mordred any useful advice?”

“I’m all out,” Gwaine says gravely, and Arthur snorts. “No, I’m only joking. We’re all rooting for you, Mordred.”

Mordred shakes his head ruefully, not resisting when Gwaine pulls him into his side. “Thank you, Gwaine.”

Merlin sighs. “It’s like sending your children off to their first tourney.”

“No, it’s not,” Mordred says plaintively.

“Yeah, but it’s not as though me and Arthur will ever have any, so we have to live vicariously,” Merlin teases.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Mordred says absently. “Gwaine, give my sword back.”

Merlin blinks at him. “Wait, what was that?”

“Gwaine, give Mordred his sword back,” Arthur orders, cuffing him over the back of the head. “Given Mordred can move things with his mind, I think you’re the one who might be in need of some advice.”

George arrives at that moment, out of breath as he bustles inside. “My Lords, we need you in the royal box. The tournament will be starting shortly.”

Merlin shakes his head, climbing to his feet. “Oops, sorry, George. Good luck everyone.”

He clasps Mordred’s arm as he passes. _Daegal is in the third stand to the left._

_Do you want me to betray you, Merlin?_

Merlin snorts with laughter, whilst the others share a bemused look. He follows George out of the tent, Arthur close behind, and back up the steps for the final day of fighting.

As it turns out, the third day is the most jovial one. Merlin had been worried about how the crowds would react to sorcerers defeating the majority of the regular competitors. Because certainly most of them would - it’s just a simple fact that most powerful warlocks are more than a match for someone with a sword. He had worried it would cause some resentment in the crowd, but thankfully that doesn’t seem to happen.

It helps that Gwaine is the first one up, a feat Merlin had discreetly orchestrated. He battles a young witch, one who’s got strength, but appears still largely untrained. Gwaine gets a few hits in, but is eventually overpowered. He is a gracious loser, sprawled in the dust and laughing, before taking the woman’s hand and letting her pull him to his feet.

That sets the tone for the rest of the day. It’s not as though those with magic win every time; one young man with clever footwork defeats a warlock his age. Again, the victory is conceded with a smile. Each time it happens, Merlin can see the sorcerer's waiting to fight relax a fraction more.

At the end of the day, the crowd is high spirits. Arthur and Merlin come down from the box to crown the victors of each category. Merlin is the one to crown the witch from the second day, carefully placing a crown of roses on her bowed head.

“What’s your name?” Merlin asks gently.

The woman swallows, but never breaks eye contact. “Aria, my lord.”

“You have very strong magic,” Merlin tells her, and she smiles tentatively. “How did you learn to do that? With the wind?”

“I’ve been practising,” Aria admits. “Ever since I found out about the tournament. I wasn’t sure I was going to take part at first, but in the end I knew I had to.”

She hesitates, before leaning closer, almost whispering. “I never even knew there were these many sorcerers in Camelot.”

“We’ve all been hiding,” Merlin agrees softly. “But we’re not alone anymore.”

Aria bites her lip, then asks in a rush, “Did you really fight a dragon?”

Merlin laughs and Aria flushes. “Not exactly.”

“I had to ask,” Aria mumbles, and Merlin grins at her.

“Enjoy the feast tonight. You’ve more than earned it.”

Aria drops into a curtsey. “Thank you.”

They finish congratulating the winners, then slowly make their way back to the castle. Gaius catches up with them, Daegal by his side. “Merlin, you did very well, my boy.”

Merlin smiles. “Thank you, Gaius.”

“That was amazing,” Daegal says in awe. “I’ve never seen anything like it before.”

“I told you you’d enjoy it!” Merlin says. “How are you finding your apprenticeship so far?”

Gaius raises an eyebrow. “It’s only been a week, Merlin.”

“I am enjoying it very much,” Daegal says earnestly, then clocks Arthur and freezes.

Merlin hides his smile, tugging Arthur’s arm to get his attention. “Daegal, let me introduce you to King Arthur.”

Arthur turns as Merlin says his name, giving Daegal a friendly smile. “Daegal, is it? You’re Gauis’ new apprentice.”

Daegal seems lost for words, but Merlin covers for him by quickly calling the knights over. “This is Sir Leon, Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine. And you already know Sir Mordred. Daegal is the new physician’s assistant.”

He casts a look at Mordred, who is smiling hopefully at Daegal. Mordred had won his category, and there is a laurel wreath still perched atop his dark curls.

Daegal nods his head. “Sir Mordred, you fought very well today.”

Mordred, Merlin is delighted to report, turns bright red. “Thank you, Daegal. Did you enjoy the tournament?”

Arthur elbows him in the ribs. “Are they - “

“Best to leave them to it.” Merlin stamps his feet. “Come on, I’m cold. Let’s get to the feast.”

The crowds are leaving the stands, flags of every colour held in their hands, blue, pink, green, red. The victors are being congratulated, slapped on the back and offered a round in the tavern later. There are commiserations for the losers, rueful smiles and vows of success next year. Money exchanges hands as people cash in - and cash out - on the wagers that have been made.

Chatter and laughter fills the air, the people reliving their favourite moments, the twists and turns of each fight. In the distance, Merlin can see Aria bending to show a little girl her rose crown. One of the serving girls is laughing with Sir Leon, her son perched on her hip as he reaches for Leon’s armour in awe.

The sun hangs low in the sky, painting it with streaks of pink and orange. It paints a perfect background to the castle itself, Camelot beckoning them home in the distance. Merlin can just make out the golden flicker of candles being lit in the windows.

“Do you think we’ll have a tourney next year?” Merlin asks quietly, looping his arm through Arthur’s.

They’ve hung back from the main group, no urgency in their strides. Up ahead, Percival has his arm around Gwaine’s waist, their heads bent together. Mordred and Daegal are deep in conversation, stealing glances when the other isn’t looking.

Aithusa is utterly intrigued by all the scents and noises around her. She’s brave enough to venture a few feet, scenting at a dropped flag, attempting to stalk a blackbird until it catches on and flutters away. Several people are glancing at her awe, especially the younger children, openly staring at the little white dragon.

She gets tired quickly; it’s been an exciting few days for her and she’d spent the majority of it by Merlin’s side. Neither of them like to be parted when there are lots of people in and around the castle. Especially when they’d been separated so recently, even if that was voluntarily.

She scampers back over to them, yawning widely and showing her sharp fangs. Merlin bends down, gathering her into his arms. Aithusa nuzzles his neck before climbing up onto his shoulders, draping herself around them in her favoured position. Once she’s secure and settled, Merlin slips his hand into Arthur’s.

“We could,” Arthur murmurs. “Perhaps it will be a new tradition.”

“Yes.” Merlin stares up into the sunset. “I think we’ll be making a few of those.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daegal is the sweetest boy and he deserves everything. He and Mordred would be very sweet together, in my opinion. If I had to pick my own favourite part of this chapter, it would probably be Merlin welcoming the sorcerers to the second day of the tournament. I didn't really get the chance to put it in here, but my implicit meaning was the sorcerer isn't just legal - it's celebrated. It's included, in every day life, including tournaments that the whole kingdom attends. 
> 
> merlin: i'm going to interrogate whoever is taking my job  
merlin after seeing daegal: here let me help you ace your job interview
> 
> We only have two chapters left! The very final chapter will be an epilogue of sorts and next chapter will be a little different - though in a good way I think. I don't want to give anything away for how this will end, but I will say it's not how I thought, though again in a good way and one I hope people will enjoy.
> 
> as ever, I am grateful for every comment on this. I can't quite believe I've written 200k - this is the longest thing I've ever written! I will miss writing these two domestic idiots. I am struggling incredibly with my anxiety at the moment. especially when I'm trying to sleep, and it's been a bit of a reprieve from that. I am trying very hard to be brave but it is hard. anyway whilst I absolutely love this story, I am very excited for my regency au and to explore that universe. 
> 
> on a complete side note - anyone think the rating needs to go up for this fic? given the exploits of last chapter lmao, should it be explicit? i don't think people overly care about rating - i don't really - but thought i'd ask 
> 
> hope you enjoyed this one and woo! two chapters in two days


	34. Chapter 34

Merlin has been court sorcerer for four months when he and Arthur are separated for the first time.

Well. Separated voluntarily. Kidnappings and sneaking out of the castle to prevent Camelot’s doom do not count.

The druids are holding a summit and there is no way that Merlin can’t go. With Camelot’s stance changing on magic, many other kingdoms are following suit. Others, however, are drawing behind their walls and clamping down on the laws in place prohibiting magic.

Merlin is sadly not that surprised. Uther may have spearheaded the great purge, but there are plenty of rulers who shared his bigotry. Plenty of kings ready to light the pyres. They can only change their kingdom, not all five.

For now.

Anyway, the druids want to convene a summit to discuss what this means for their people. Not all Kings are extending the hand of friendship, but are rather more grudging, and the druids need to propose their demands carefully. For the rulers who are more accepting, there are still details to be discussed. Years of persecution aren’t so easily undone.

Logically, Merlin understands that he’s uniquely placed to advise on the intricacies of negotiating magic and non-magic relations. Logically, Merlin understands that the druids would want Emrys present for such a momentous meeting.

Merlin is not feeling particularly logical when it comes to spending a month and a half away from Arthur.

“Couldn’t Mordred go by himself?” he suggests weakly at one point.

“Merlin,” Mordred says flatly, “do I look like the court sorcerer of Camelot?” And that’s the end of that.

Which has led Merlin to this moment, standing beside Mordred during a break, staring glumly at the floor.

Mordred sighs. “Merlin, you’re doing it again.”

Merlin snaps to attention. “I wasn’t.”

“Yes, you were. You’re the greatest sorcerer to walk the earth, stop pouting.”

“I’m not pouting,” Merlin insists. “Besides, it’s not like any of the elders are close enough to see.”

Mordred gives him an unimpressed look. It’s true the druids have been observing a respectful distance, watching him with an air of awe that Merlin finds distinctly uncomfortable. It doesn’t matter how many friendly smiles he gives, or how many times he asks someone to call him Merlin, that just seems to make it worse.

In contrast, it is Mordred who is the cautious one. He is hesitant around the druids, as though anxious they may reject him. Not that he needs to worry; the druids are welcoming and warm, and by the second day Mordred has relaxed enough to cautiously ask them some questions.

“Because you won’t let them close,” Mordred observes archly. “You and Arthur do share a destiny, I suppose. Perhaps you’re allowed to miss him a small amount.”

Merlin snorts. “Thank you for the permission.”

“Why don’t you just write him a letter?” Mordred suggests. “Oh, they’re reconvening. We should - “

Merlin grabs his arm. “Wait, what?”

“The elders are heading back into the hall. We should go with them - “

“No, about the letter.”

Mordred stares at him. “A letter, Merlin. It’s really quite simple, you take a quill and some parchment - “

“Yes, but any letter I sent would take weeks to get to Camelot,” Merlin frowns.

“Sometimes, I cannot believe you’re Emrys,” Mordred says under his breath. “Write your letter to Arthur later and bring it to me to send. Right now we have to go back into the meeting.”

Merlin doesn’t get a chance to question Mordred further, but he does make sure to elbow him in the ribs on principle.

Later that evening, Merlin meets Mordred outside of the druid encampment, letter sealed and clutched to his chest. “Here.”

Mordred just nods and raises his arm. There’s a pause, then a raven flutters down from the trees around them and lands on Mordred’s arm. It caws once, preening as Mordred gently strokes its feathers.

“A raven,” Merlin says softly.

The raven tilts its head in Merlin’s direction, eyes bright and beady as it chirps at him. Mordred takes the little scroll from Merlin’s fingers and attaches it to the raven’s leg with a piece of twine.

“Are you sure he’ll be able to carry it that far?” Merlin asks dubiously.

Mordred shakes his head dismissively. “Of course.”

The raven winks at him. Merlin gapes at the raven, then at Mordred, and decides not to ask.

-

Arthur

I’ve been trying to imagine the look on your face when this letter turns up. I hope you haven’t tried to scare away the raven; I’m sure that Mordred’s woodland friend understands everything we say.

We have arrived safely at the camp where the druids are holding their summit. I have to share a tent with Mordred, which is far nicer than that time I had to share with Gwaine and Percival. The only downside is that he’s always up at the crack of dawn. And I thought my early mornings would be over now I get to live the slovenly life of a King’s consort. You royals never see the sunrise.

Needless to say I’d much rather be sharing a tent with you.

The druids are very welcoming, but if someone bows to me one more time, I’m going to lose my mind. Is that what it feels like to be King? No wonder your head is as big as your waist.

I miss you.

When you write back, just attach your letter to the raven’s leg. He’ll find his way back to me.

I wish you could too.

Merlin

-

Merlin,

How is it that you are capable of ruining my life, even when you’re several kingdoms away? Clearly it’s a gift few possess.

That blasted bird arrived at my window in the dead of night, threw itself at the glass, and refused to leave until I let it inside. Sir Leon took great pains to point out to me that I still had a feather lodged in my hair this morning.

Where did Mordred find the creature anyway? Or would it be better I don’t know? I am certain the wretched thing winked at me as I was etching my reply.

I am sure other royal consorts may live a life of slovenly luxury, but somehow you don’t strike me as the type. Not to mention that Camelot could never be described as a boring kingdom; I’m sure our adventures are from over. That being said, you are welcome to spend the sunrise in my bed whenever you wish it.

I know you find the depths of the druid’s regards for you unsettling. A great many people look up to you, Merlin. You have brought them hope and that is a powerful gift to those who have long lost sight of it.

I have to go settle a ridiculous bet between Gwaine and Leon and the demon bird is growing impatient.

I miss you terribly.

Arthur

-

Arthur,

Firstly, I can see that you’ve only become more of a dramatic ass since I left Camelot. Ruined your life, really? Besides, I’m sure I’ve saved your life more times than I’ve ruined it. I am allowed a little leeway.

Secondly, what was the bet between Gwaine and Leon about? Please tell me it did not involve crossbows again.

Honestly, I have no idea where Mordred found the raven. One of the druids has been teaching him about his connection to nature and the world around him. Mordred is fascinated and his magic is so strong that he picks it up easily. I fully expect to find a bear waiting for me when I next return to our tent.

I thought most of the druids had gotten over their shock, but today I made the mistake of confirming yes, I did find a dragon egg, and yes, there is a white dragon living in Camelot. The entire encampment is delighted. Why did you ever let me go find that egg? I’m not cut out for this hero worship lark.

Having said that, I miss Athuisa only second to how much I miss you. How is she? Don’t let her take her first flight without me. Is the wyvern behaving himself? Last I saw he was sulking in the ruined barn by the southern gates.

The raven is perfectly cordial to me, so you must have done something to wind the poor creature up. Perhaps he’s just not a royalist.

Luckily for you, I am.

Merlin

-

Merlin

I don’t think there’s a tariff to compensate for the disasters you’ve dragged me into. However, I have to admit you have a point on the amount of times I owe you my life. How ever will I pay off that debt?

Thankfully, the bet did not involve crossbows this time. It did involve a meat pie, a javelin and one of the stable lads. Truly, my love, I am doing you a kindness by sparing you the details.

I am glad to hear Mordred is enjoying his time among his people. Do you think he would ever wish to stay with them? He’s as loyal as any of my knights, but I would not want to keep him from his family if that is what he really wanted.

What about you? Will you learn from the druids whilst you are there? You told me before the magic the druids use is different to your own. Perhaps it will be you that they learn from!

Aithusa is learning how to hunt. She has tried to swipe your raven a few times; you may want to think about sending another bird, unless you want our correspondence to abruptly end. Obviously, I have not encouraged her in any way.

I had the dullest council meeting today. Shockingly, Sir Edric wants to raise the people’s taxes again. Shockingly, my answer is no. If you had been there, we could have pulled faces behind his back, but you’re not. So I had to do that with Gwaine, instead.

I told Aithusa you asked about her and her response was to snatch this piece of parchment out of my hands. I managed to retrieve it seven minutes later but that’s the explanation for the tooth marks at the bottom of the page. She is currently spitting out bits of paper. As a Dragon Lord, perhaps you can translate for me?

I have an early practice tomorrow morning and the candle is running low. Its flame is the same burnished gold as your eyes.

Yours  
Arthur

-

Dear Arthur

I am sure I can think of a way for you to repay me.

Sir Edric is a prat. And a coward. He only ever makes suggestions like that when I’m not there. He’s still convinced I’m going to turn him into a toad. (Though maybe I’ll have to encourage that idea, if he doesn’t stop trying to strip Camelot’s poorest citizens of the little coin they have.)

I don’t think Mordred would choose to leave Camelot if you paid him. He’s far too loyal and he spent most of his recent years on his own, not with a druid camp. Though when we finally appoint him ambassador to the druids, he’ll be able to visit them as much as he likes.

I am certain Mordred has been sending letters to Daegal. I’ve been needling him about it for days - he gets so defensive, it’s hilarious. I think I better stop before he enacts his revenge, though.

Some of the druids have brought along their children; it’s a large campsite and there are more than enough of us to watch over them if their parents are taking part in the talks. There is a real sense of community here.

Word has spread about Aithusa and today I was ambushed by a gaggle of druid children asking about the dragon that lives in Camelot. The oldest of them was teaching the little ones how to make threaded bracelets. She tried to teach me, too, but I am not sure how successfully that went.

Either way, I’ve enclosed the bracelet I made for you, though I’m not overly confident it’ll survive the journey.

Because I am so naturally selfless, I’ve listened to all your moaning about the raven and arranged an alternate delivery method.

Your faithful consort  
Merlin

-

My dearest Merlin

Thank you so much for deigning to provide an ‘alternative delivery method.’ That being a giant, bloody eagle-owl which crashed into the council chambers this morning.

It’s the size of a small dog, Merlin. I don’t think the round table will ever be the same after that crash landing.

The worst part is that the sodding thing won’t let anyone but me within a foot of it. Right now, the terror is perched on my dresser, sizing up Aithusa for dinner.

I visited Gaius the other day, who told me Mordred sends Daegal a letter each week. Gaius is still teaching Daegal how to read and write, so the poor man has to read them all aloud to him. According to Gaius, the letters are ‘unbelievably saccharine’ and then he did that thing with his eyebrow.

We had a council meeting today and the orphanage is finally finished. Once you’re back, we can open it officially. Gwaine has been in touch with the outer villages, in particular Eastwick. They had that terrible flood last year, if you recall? The villagers have done what they can for those who lost parents, but soon there won’t be enough food to go around.

I must admit it sets my soul at rest to know those children will soon have a safe home to call their own.

Your bracelet did survive the journey and I am wearing it now. Gwaine has managed to hold his tongue so far, though that can only last so long.

I had a ride through the meadow this afternoon on Apollo, where the wildflowers grow. There is one pressed between the pages of this letter.

It has been three weeks and I miss you terribly. Only three more and you will be back in my arms.

Yours in exasperation

Arthur

-

My long suffering King

I promise not to send anymore feral birds your way. However, the owl is here to stay. I have named him Archimedes. What do you think? I think it’s a fine name for such a fine creature.

I was so pleased to hear the news about the orphanage. I have been speaking to the druids here and did you know they often take in magical children? Many who have fled persecution themselves, and others whose parents were killed by those who oppose sorcery.

Like the villagers in Eastwick, they do what they can but can only do so much. I know we’ve already talked about free reading and writing classes for the children who become wards of Camelot, but perhaps we should look into magical tutors for those who need it too…

We can discuss it more when I return.

Don’t think I missed the detail in your last letter, Arthur Pendragon. Why were you visiting Gaius? Have you managed to injure yourself in the three weeks I’ve been away? And don’t even think of lying - I’ll write to Leon and you know he’ll tell me the truth.

Though I am kept very busy and the druids have now relaxed enough to have full conversations with me, my heart aches to see you again.

It is coming up to a month and I cannot remember a time when we have been apart for so long.

Evidently, we are not very good at being separated.

Yours impatiently

Merlin

-

Sweetheart

I received your message and did not want to wait till the morning to reply. If the ink is smudged, it is because I am writing this by candlelight.

It’s true we’re terrible at being separated. Clearly, the only solution is to never do so again.

I love you.

Arthur

-

Arthur

Well, if the King commands it so.

I love you.

Merlin

-

Beloved

My apologies for the delay in penning a longer letter. I wanted to give Archimedes a rest after delivering my first note last night. Daegal brought him an entire chicken from the kitchen after his journey back and forth, which Archimedes promptly scoffed. That boy is far too soft hearted.

He has also asked me no less than seven times when you will be returning. He is immeasurably grateful to you for securing a job with Gaius for him. I have no doubt he will be following you around like a lost duckling on your return. Hopefully we can palm him off on Mordred, given I am most eager to get you on your own.

If magical children do come under the care of the state, then I see no reason why they should not receive an education from a magical tutor, too. It makes perfect sense to me.

Please don’t get into a snit about my visit to Gaius. I may have slightly grazed my arm during a hunt. It’s nothing serious - didn’t even need stitches! - and there was barely any blood. Of course, if my personal physician was here and not miles away in the middle of a forest, then he could tend to it himself.

On a serious note - we’ve had reports from Arendor of some strange goings on. They are a coastal town, a stone’s throne from Gedref. Sailors report seeing women in the water at night - women with the tails of fish.

I can barely believe I’m writing this sentence, but do mermaids exist?

Kelpies I can just about come to terms with but _mermaids_?

That may well be the final straw for me, so please come home soon so you can deal with them yourself.

Gedref is right on the border with Nemeth, so I’ve penned a missive to Mithian as well. Any vital information I should warn her of?

Yours, as always  
Arthur

-

Dear Leon,

How are you? How are the knights? I miss you all and I hope Arthur isn’t training you too hard.

Just a quick query - did Arthur really just hurt himself on a hunt? Or has he done something recklessly brave and self-sacrificing that I should know about?

Also, how much is a little blood?

Take care,

Merlin

P.S. DO NOT LET ARTHUR GO AFTER THE MERMAIDS ON HIS OWN

-

Dear Merlin

We are all well here. We all miss you, too. Arthur has been moping for a week now and I fear there is only so long before he throws all his focus into training. We’re all praying for your swift return for the sake of our leg muscles.

He really did injure himself on a hunt - his horse spooked at a boar and he fell. There was minimal blood, from what I remember.

Rest assured I would tell you if the case was otherwise, Merlin.

Your faithful servant

Leon

P.S I will keep Arthur from the mermaids, but not sure I can promise the same for Gwaine.

-

Darling Arthur

DO NOT GO AFTER THE MERMAIDS.

I have written that bit in bold in the hopes that it will sink into your thick skull. I mean it, Arthur. Your noble spirit and desire to help others is one of the several reasons I love you, however that is a fat lot of good if you’re drowned at sea.

Mermaids - from what I’ve read in Gaius’ books - fall into two distinct clans. The first clan live in warmer waters. They have learnt to cohabit with humans and generally avoid them, apart from the occasional mischief where they steal from fishing boats. They are shy but often curious about human life and scavenge for trinkets in shipwrecks.

The second clan have developed a taste for human flesh. They will prey upon lone fisherman and have teeth the size of my hand, which reportedly retract into their gums.

Yeah. I know.

Do you see why that could be of concern? Tell the people to stay as far away from the ocean as possible. Give Mithian the same advice - she’s as strong willed as you, so please stress the part about man eating sea demons.

Once I’m home, we can go assess the situation together. For now - stay on land, Arthur. Don’t think I wouldn’t know otherwise.

I am heartened to hear you were not badly injured, though I’d argue ‘barely any blood’ is still far too much. I’d rather you not spill any blood and I would return to you whole, but at this point returning to you in any way is what I desire most.

The talks are almost coming to an end, here. I know we intend to appoint Mordred as ambassador, but I think regular talks with the druids should continue. They are their own kingdom in a way, aren’t they? Certainly their own people. I think they should be invited to any upcoming treaty talks, the same ones we’d invite Mercier or Nemeth or Gedref to.

It has been incredible to spend all this time surrounded by those with magic. Tomorrow, the druids are holding a ceremony to welcome in this age of peace. I am honoured to say I have been invited to attend. As I am not a druid some of the customs are still unfamiliar to me, but Mordred remembers many of them from his childhood and has been helping me learn them all.

Not long now.

Yours hoping you won’t do anything stupid

Merlin

-

Dear Merlin

Have no fear, I have resisted seeking out any man eating sea demons on my own. I am in no great hurry to meet them - I’m happy for you to take on this matter of state.

Mithian has agreed to hold fire until your return. Her message implies that Nemeth is considering employing their own court sorcerer at some point. My impression is that it is very early stages of discussion, but it makes sense.

You can’t run to every kingdom’s rescue each time a magic creature appears, you’ll be run ragged. Though I have no doubt they’ll still come to you for your expertise. (I can’t deny I like the idea of you being my court sorcerer, though, not theirs. No matter how much advice you give.)

This will be a short letter as I have run out of words to share. I only have one though; that in four days you will be back in my arms and I can think of nothing else until then.

Until then, my heart remains with you as it always has done.

Yours affectionately  
Arthur

P.S I cannot believe you wrote to Leon to check up on me. THERE REALLY WAS MINIMAL BLOOD, MERLIN.

-

Arthur

My handwriting will no doubt be all over the place because I am currently scribbling this atop a horse. Mordred is laughing beside me but I do not care.

We are half a day's ride from Camelot. I am almost back to you and to my home and I can barely breathe for how full my heart is.

I will see you before sundown.

All my love

Merlin

-

Merlin

It cannot possibly be taking you that long to bathe.

Though I do admit we are both quite… filthy after the events of last night.

Hurry up and come back to bed. I am keeping the sheets warm, but our bed is large and empty and I want to do nothing but spend the entire day, (and most of the evening), in it with you.

Arthur

-

Darling

I was rather hoping you’d be the one to join me.

We can warm the sheets later.

Merlin

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is obviously in a very different format to others however I HAD SO MUCH FUN WRITING IT.
> 
> I quite like that the last chapter before the epilogue is a little different. I personally love the idea of seeing their love letters to each other and I do think they'd be complete saps. 
> 
> I know epistolary style writing isn't always everyone's thing - I certainly can't read entire fics like that - but I do like one off chapters and hopefully you all did too!
> 
> Final chapter next. It will be an epilogue of sorts and there are a few surprises in store I think. Some people have made guesses in the comments - I love to hear them! I will not reply lol as do not want to give anything away but I do love to hear everyone's ideas of what might happen!
> 
> This story has been a huge journey however I will save the emotional note for the final chapter. On a side note I am happy to say I am on new meds now for my anxiety and good lord have they made a difference. it's like being able to breathe again. anyway, i am off to watch rewatch season four of ugly betty and then get some rest. love you all and love to hear people's thoughts on this chapter.


	35. Chapter 35

_Ten Years Later_

It’s not Merlin’s first choice on how to spend an evening.

Sadly, traipsing through the forest at midnight isn’t an uncommon occurrence; not after eleven years as the court sorcerer of Camelot. At least the rogue herd of griffins hadn’t been too hard to round up. He might actually see his bed before sunrise at this rate.

The night is still and quiet as their small group rides back to the castle. Merlin draws his cloak closer around him, a chill in the air that nips at his cheeks. Up ahead, he can see Tam deep in conversation with Adelina, no doubt reliving every minute of the night’s events.

Wren, riding quietly beside him, follows his gaze. “Tam is very eager.”

Merlin grins. “Did you expect anything less? It’s all he’s talked about for years. He was not best pleased that he had to wait until he was nineteen to begin his training, just like everybody else.”

A small smile crosses Wren’s face. “He’s enthusiastic, I’ll give him that.”

She nudges her mare forward, looking up at the clouded sky. “We’re making good time. At this rate we should be home before dawn for once, Sire.”

“Don’t jinx it. That’s what you said before we ran into those trolls.”

“I try not to think about the trolls, Sire,” Wren says politely, and Merlin laughs.

Thankfully, they do make it back to Camelot without incident. The sound of hooves echo through the silent courtyard, not a soul in sight as their party comes to a halt.

Merlin slips off his mare, nodding at the others gratefully. “Thank you for your work tonight. Please get some well earned rest.”

Tam gives him a wide, boyish grin, sandy hair falling over his eyes. He steps forward, opening his mouth, but Adelina grabs his arm. “Tam, it’s past midnight. I want my bedroll and some sleep.”

“I just wanted to ask about the griffin,” Tam protests, but he lets Adelina drag him away. They’ll both return to the druid camp tonight, before returning bright and early for training tomorrow.

Wren is the only one who remains behind, the breeze teasing out soft strands from where her hair is pulled back into a high tail. “Will that be all, Sire?”

Merlin shrugs. “Yes, as long as there isn’t a troll hiding under the portcullis.”

Wren shakes her head, slipping her dagger back into its sheath. It’s enchanted to only her touch; a bandit made the mistake of trying to steal it once and his entire hand blistered.

“You shouldn’t tempt the triple goddess. Especially when I’ll be beside you when she enacts her justice, no doubt.”

“That’s what I’m relying on,” Merlin points out. “The last trolls we encountered, you took two of them out with a spell before I could even blink.”

Wren smiles demurely, like she isn’t an incredibly powerful sorceress who beat out every other candidate for the role of Captain of Merlin’s personal guard. “The King will be waiting, Sire.”

“The King will be asleep in bed,” Merlin corrects wistfully. “Which is where we both should be. Goodnight, Wren.”

“Goodnight, Sire.”

Wren executes a perfect bow, before turning on her heel and leading her and Merlin’s horse towards the stables. Merlin yawns, nodding at the guards on duty as he makes his way towards their chambers.

As he passes the eastern wing of the castle, his feet slow. There are two guards keeping watch outside of one room in particular, and they snap to attention as he approaches.

“It’s alright,” Merlin says quickly. “I just wanted to make sure everything was fine.”

“Everything is well, Sire,” the first guard reassures him. “No one has been past.”

“And the wards are still in place,” the second guard adds. “Checked them myself, Sire.”

“Thank you.” Merlin smiles ruefully. “I couldn’t help asking. Goodnight.”

He walks the rest of the way to their chambers, rubbing tiredly at his eyes. He pushes the door open as quietly as possible, gaze falling to the bed.

Even after all these years, Merlin’s heart still flutters at the sight of Arthur. Even exhausted as he is, that sweet swell of warmth still rushes his chest, throat thick with affection.

Arthur is curled on his side, face soft and lax in sleep. He’s facing Merlin’s side, one arm outstretched as though reaching for him. The sheets have slipped, revealing the curve of one shoulder.

Merlin undresses, pulling on an old tunic of Arthur’s before sliding into bed. He snuggles into the mattress, before lifting one hand to gently stroke through Arthur’s hair.

Arthur exhales but doesn’t open his eyes. “You’re back late.”

Merlin brushes a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “I’m stepping out on you.”

Arthur cracks one eye open. “With a herd of griffins?”

“No, with, er.” Merlin thinks. “One of the night guards.”

“Good,” Arthur mutters. “Whatever gets you out from under my feet.”

Merlin snorts, leaning forward to kiss him, slow and sweet like drizzled honey. When they break apart, Arthur says petulantly, “The bed was cold without you.”

Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s neck, nestling into his side. “And you couldn’t light a fire? Old age is really setting in.”

“Firstly, I’m thirty five.” Arthur pinches his hip. “And secondly, I’m used to my husband lighting the fires with a snap of his fingers. It’s not my fault you spoil me.”

Merlin hums. “I suppose you are overindulged. But it’s not my fault I love you so.”

Arthur slides one palm under Merlin’s tunic, beginning to rub slow circles over his back, voice rough from sleep. “I love you, too. Even when you’re late to bed.”

Merlin can feel his own eyes begin to shutter. “Guards are still outside their door and wards still in place. I checked on my way past.”

“Good.”

Arthur yawns, gently manoeuvring Merlin to face away from him. He pulls Merlin back against his chest, burrowing his face into the nape of Merlin’s neck. “You should sleep late in the morning. I’ll make sure you’re not disturbed.”

Merlin relaxes into Arthur’s arm, sleep tugging at him coaxingly. He makes a noise of assent, warm and content as he drifts off.

-

To his surprise, Merlin manages two whole hours without interruption.

True to his word, Arthur ensures he gets to sleep in that morning. It’s nice, though less nice when he wakes to an empty bed. The sun is filtering through the shutters as he stretches. He bathes and dresses, before settling at his desk to pen a missive to Nemeth.

Queen Mithian is visiting next week and he needs to warn her to take the northern road. There’s a shoal of nixies in the river to the south, who won’t take kindly to being disturbed. Merlin is just signing his name when there’s a large thump from outside the door.

He pauses, listening, before the sounds of footsteps echo down the hall. Merlin barely has time to put down his quill, before the door bursts open and a small hurricane barrels into the room.

“Daddy!” Rowan shrieks. “Look what I found!”

He promptly deposits what appears to be a live frog onto Merlin’s desk. The frog, it has to be said, has a look of utter terror in its bulging eyes. Merlin supposes being carried around by an overly enthusiastic seven year old will do that to you.

“That’s lovely, sweetheart,” Merlin says hesitantly, eyeing the frog. “Where did you find that then?”

“In the pond,” Rowan answers promptly. “But I had to swim.”

Leon steps into the room with a sigh. “He was underwater for fifteen minutes before coming up for air. The guard on duty nearly had a heart attack.”

Merlin hums, reaching out to haul his son onto his lap. “How did you do that, Rowan?”

Rowan shrugs. “Don’t know.”

Merlin ducks his head to press a kiss to Rowan’s dark curls. He’s pretty sure he knows how. Rowan’s magic has only been growing over the past year, though it’s still untempered and manifests in different ways. The latest apparently being an ability to breathe underwater.

Rowan points to the frog. “Can I keep it?”

“Ask your father.”

Rowan frowns up at him. “I _am_.”

Merlin tries not to laugh. “Your other father.”

“I already asked him,” Rowan insists. “He said to ask you.”

“Of course he did,” Merlin mutters. “I think the frog would like to go back to his pond.”

Rowan is disappointed by this announcement, but quickly distracted by Merlin’s promise to carry him to the pond. Rowan is slight for his age, small and light when Merlin hoists him up onto his hip. He holds the frog carefully in his cupped palms, brown eyes wide.

“Thank you, Leon,” Merlin adds as they leave the room.

Leon reaches over to ruffle Rowan’s hair. “It’s alright. At least he didn’t set anything on fire this time.”

“I didn’t mean to do that,” Rowan says mournfully, and Merlin laughs.

“It’s alright, sweetpea.” Merlin kisses his temple. “I got up to plenty of trouble with my magic as a boy, believe me.”

He further distracts Rowan with an exaggerated retelling of his own childhood exploits. It’s enough to coax him into releasing the traumatised amphibian back into its natural habitat.

After, he slips his hand into Rowan’s small one. “Shall we go see where your sister is?”

“She’s where she always is,” Rowan scowls. “She’s so boring, she never plays with me anymore.”

Rowan’s eyes are wary as they cross through the courtyard. He keeps close to Merlin’s side as they’re greeted by passers-by. Outside of their little family, Rowan is still cautious of strangers. Halfway there, Merlin scoops him up again, and Rowan soon relaxes, gripping Merlin’s tunic and chattering away.

Merlin spots Arthur first and his stomach gives a little lurch. Arthur is etched in the sun’s glow, glinting off his golden hair as he holds out his sword. He demonstrates a manoeuvre, a familiar twist and parry that Merlin has seen him use countless times in battle.

A young girl is watching him keenly, a wooden sword clutched in her hand. With her blond hair and determined gaze, she could easily pass for a blood relation of Arthur’s, though biologically there is no connection.

She’s inherited her father’s temper either way, because after three failed tries, Elia throws her sword to the ground in frustration. “I can’t do it!”

“It’s alright,” Arthur says gently, sheathing his own sword. “It just takes practise. I didn’t get it on my first try either.”

Elia looks sullen. “There’s no point. Seeing as you won’t let me compete in the tournament.”

“Because you have to be sixteen to compete in the junior tournament,” Merlin interrupts. “As you well know.”

Arthur turns to him, eyes warm and fond. Merlin gently sets Rowan on his feet, before slipping under the arm Arthur holds out to him, exchanging a chaste kiss. “Good morning.”

“Good morning, my love,” Arthur murmurs. “Did you sleep well?”

“I did,” Merlin replies. “Apparently Rowan can breathe under water now.”

Arthur casts an alarmed look at their son, who is currently pulling faces at his older sister. “Should I expect him to develop gills any time soon?”

“Let’s not rule anything out.”

“Annabeth is competing in the tournament!” Elia interjects loudly.

“Annabeth is sixteen,” Merlin reminds her, not unkindly. “And Percival would make her wait two more years if he could.”

Elia scowls. “Sir Gwaine wants to let her compete.”

“Sir Gwaine is an idiot,” Arthur tells her seriously.

Elia opens her mouth to object, but Rowan pipes up then, voice hopeful. “Elia, will you come play with me?”

“No, don’t be such a baby,” Elia snaps.

Merlin frowns at her. “Elia, don’t speak to your brother like that.”

Elia looks sulky, but then she glances at Rowan’s face and heaves a sigh. “Sorry, Ro. What do you want to play with?”

“Frogs,” Rowan says promptly. “Can I get a biscuit from the kitchens, too?”

Arthur crouches down in front of him, ruffling his hair. “We’ll see.”

“Which means yes,” Merlin mutters, because Arthur spoils their children utterly. Something Rowan is more than aware of, considering his triumphant grin. “Elia, do you want to help me in putting the swords away? And then you can go join your brother in ransacking the kitchens.”

Elia doesn’t look as though she wants to help him put the swords away at all, but begrudgingly collects hers from the floor. Arthur stands, taking Rowan’s hand and exchanging a look with Merlin. He leads Rowan towards the castle, but not before running a gentle hand over Elia’s hair.

Elia allows it, before following Merlin into the armoury. Merlin doesn’t say anything initially, giving Elia the space she needs. Sure enough, after a minute she mutters, “I really wanted to compete in the tournament.”

Merlin puts away the last sword then takes a seat on one of the wooden benches. Elia slumps down next to him, crossing her arms.

“I know how much you want to be a knight,” Merlin says softly. “And your father and I have no doubt you’ll grow up to be the greatest knight Camelot has ever seen.”

Elia sniffles. “Even better than Sir Leon?”

“Even better than Sir Leon.”

“He’s been helping me with my footwork.”

Merlin nudges her gently. “Did you know Sir Leon used to help your father with his training? Back when they were children.”

Elia stares at him. “He did?”

Merlin nods. “Yes. That’s why your father and Sir Leon are such close friends. They grew up in the castle together.”

Elia rests her head against his shoulder. “But you didn’t.”

“No,” Merlin agrees. “I grew up in a different kingdom.”

At thirteen, Elia is old enough to know a little of her parent’s pasts. She knows that Merlin wasn’t always able to practise his magic like he can now. She’s aware that he and Arthur met in Camelot, that Arthur was prince at the time but his mother and father have since died.

Not to mention their daughter is sharp as a tack; Merlin has no doubt she’s come to some conclusions of her own.

One day, when she is old enough, Merlin will tell her the whole story. About all the fear and loss and hatred, about how something good and just and true was created from it. But for now, she’s still a child, and Merlin will not burden her unnecessarily with the wounds of the past.

“When I’m sixteen, I’m going to win the whole tournament,” Elia announces.

Merlin smiles; she sounds just as confident as Arthur did during Merlin’s first tournament in Camelot.

“I know you will.”

Elia nods, apparently satisfied she’s made her point. “When is Queen Mithian coming?”

“She’ll be here in a week's time.”

“I like her,” Elia says decisively. “Do you think I’ll be a queen like her when I’m old enough?”

“Mithian is a great queen,” Merlin agrees slowly. “But you know what I think?”

Elia looks up at him. “What?”

“I think,” Merlin says, and presses a kiss to her forehead. “That you should always be you.”

-

The children have their tutoring lessons after lunch. Elia, as usual, begs to come watch their practice that afternoon instead. “I want to see Wren knock Sir Gwaine on his arse!”

“Language,” Merlin chides automatically.

Elia rolls her eyes. “Father said that exact sentence just the other day.”

“Yes, but I didn’t do it in front of Rowan,” Arthur says.

Merlin kicks him under the table. “Really, Arthur? That’s your issue here?”

Rowan looks at them curiously. “What are you talking about?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Nothing.”

Rowan isn’t bothered, tugging on Elia’s sleeve instead. “I can swim underwater now.”

Elia stares at him in interest. “Really? How long for?”

“Ages. Come see - “

“No,” Arthur groans. “No, no testing how long your brother can breathe underwater for.”

“Not even - “

“_No_.”

Elia sighs, pushing back her chair. “Boring. Come on, Rowan. We have music lessons.”

Elia links her fingers with Rowan’s, swinging their joined hands between them. Rowan waves as they leave, already chattering ten to the dozen about his new gift as Elia listens patiently.

Unlike Rowan, Elia doesn’t have a drop of magic in her blood. Nor does she have any interest in learning, not from Merlin or Gaius or any of the handful of sorcerers who work in the castle. She is quite content in her pursuit to become a knight. Magic is so commonplace now, especially in the citadel, that Elia just isn’t that bothered.

This does not stop her from convincing Rowan to use his magic to create chaos at every possible opportunity.

Merlin turns to Arthur. “We’ll be fishing them out of the pond before nightfall.”

“No doubt.”

Flicking his hand to make sure the door is latched, Merlin gets up from his chair and flops down in Arthur’s lap. He sits sideways, resting his head against Arthur’s chest.

“Still tired?” Arthur murmurs.

Merlin nods, relaxing as Arthur’s arms circle his waist. “Yes. But at least we got rid of the griffins before the celebrations next week.”

Arthur hums, brushing his mouth against Merlin’s temple. “Oh, I don’t know. I think Mithian would relish the challenge of going up against a few griffins.”

Merlin yawns. “Oh, because that would be a great way to celebrate five years of a lasting peace treaty. Having our guests trampled to death.”

“Five years,” Arthur echoes. “I can scarcely believe it.”

Merlin closes his eyes. “I can.”

“It wouldn’t have been possible without you.”

“Without us both,” Merlin corrects firmly. “And now we get to enjoy it.”

“Yes,” Arthur agrees softly, holding him close. “Now we do.”

-

They’re only fifteen minutes late to the training field, which is probably a record for them. Merlin blames it entirely on the fact he’s too exhausted to properly take Arthur’s clothes off.

Today, the practise field is split, the knights running drills in one half and Merlin’s personal guard preparing to run through defensive spells on the other.

Wren nods at them as they approach, eyeing Tam as he wobblily carries over a wooden target. “Good morning, Sire.”

Merlin smiles. “Good morning, Wren.”

Wren gestures to the knights. “Will it be a joint practise today?”

“No,” Merlin says airily. “It’s only Monday. We’ll wait till later in the week to show them up.”

Arthur snorts. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart.”

He hooks a hand around Merlin’s waist, pulling him in for a chaste kiss. At least, it’s meant to be chaste, but somehow it gets a little dirty and slick and heated, until Gwaine’s wolf whistle breaks them apart.

“I have to go train my sorcerers,” Merlin breathes.

“I have to go train my knights,” Arthur counters, but he isn’t moving away.

“You’re not going off to war!” Gwaine bellows.

Arthur whips around to glare at him. “You will be in a minute!”

Gwaine squints. “We’re not _at_ war.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, smacking a kiss to Merlin’s cheek and leaving to presumably beat Gwaine into the ground. Merlin fights the urge to touch the spot where Arthur kissed him like a blushing maiden, and turns to his own sorcerers.

After sorcery had become legal, there had been an influx of magical issues and complications to deal with. Disputes leading to enchantments and spells, magical creatures returning to the mountains, forests and seas. Plenty of young sorcerers coming into their powers often struggled to control them to begin with. Villagers learning to live alongside magic often needed a little guidance - though thankfully there hadn’t been any repeats of the unicorn incident.

As Arthur would diplomatically put it: it was a learning experience for everyone.

They’d both come to the realisation that Merlin didn’t have to deal with all of that alone, not anymore. So Merlin had begun to carefully select an elite group of magic users to help him in protecting Camelot and her people.

Tam is their newest recruit and still going through training. Adelina is from the same druid camp as him, only a few years older and exceedingly gifted at healing magic. Then there’s Gili, though he’s in the northern territories at the moment, conferring with some witches about the latest research into shielding spells.

Wren is the head of his personal guard and one of his closest confidants. He would trust her with his life - and he has, dozens of times.

It’s a good training session. Tam only sets two targets on fire. And Adelina’s sleeve, though thankfully she manages to put that out rather quickly.

“Enthusiastic,” Wren mouths to him, as Adelina is inspecting the singed fabric, and Merlin chokes on his mouthful of water.

Gwaine wanders over once they’re finished. “Merlin, you look terrible.”

“Oh, sorry. I was up all night saving the kingdom,” Merlin says tartly.

Gwaine cocks his head to one side. “Are you sure that’s all you were up all night doing?”

“Yes.”

“It’s just after that time where I walked in on Arthur - “

“Stop bringing that up,” Merlin hisses, and Gwaine bursts into laughter.

Percival joins them, pulling off his helmet and wiping at his sweaty brow. “Morning, Merlin. Elia is still desperate to compete in the tournament, from what I hear?”

Merlin sighs. “Yes. She won’t stop talking about the fact Annabeth is taking part.”

Percival shoots Gwaine a shrewd look. “She wouldn’t be, if I had my say.”

Gwaine rolls his eyes, pulling his hair away from his face with and into a loose bun. “We’ve talked about this, babe.”

Percival turns to Merlin. “Merlin, would you let Elia compete in the tournament?”

“Uh, ask me in three years,” Merlin says weakly, really not wanting to get involved.

Percival and Gwaine start to bicker and Merlin takes the opportunity to slip away. He heads to where Arthur is talking with Leon, hair tousled and eyes bright as he drinks Merlin in.

“Haven’t seen that incantation before,” he comments lightly.

Merlin smirks. “Liked that, did you?”

“It piqued my interest.”

“For god's sake,” Leon mutters. “I’ll see you in an hour then, Sire?”

“Better make it two!” Merlin calls over his shoulder and lets Arthur drag him away.

-

Merlin frowns at his reflection. “Arthur?”

“Yes?”

Merlin yanks his collar to the side. “Where the hell did this come from?”

Arthur doesn’t even bother looking up from where he’s adjusting his cuffs. “Do you recall me fucking you against the wall half an hour ago?”

“Yes, I recall that, you prat,” Merlin hisses. “But I don’t recall asking you to suck a bruise the size of an orange into my neck. The entourage from Nemeth will be here within the hour.”

Arthur doesn’t look at all apologetic. “You weren’t exactly complaining, as I remember it. Honestly, we probably have time for another go - “

“No,” Merlin snaps. “If we’re late to a royal ceremony again, Gwaine will never let us live it down.”

Arthur wanders over to him, slipping his arms around his waist and pulling Merlin back against his chest. Their reflections contrast, Arthur in crimson and gold, Merlin blue and silver.

“Arthur,” Merlin warns, even as he tilts his head one side, shivering as Arthur brushes his mouth against the purpling mark on his neck. “_Arthur_.”

Arthur sighs and lifts his head obediently, resting his chin on Merlin’s shoulder. His gaze is hot, appreciative, as he rakes his eyes over Merlin’s outfit, “You look beautiful.”

Merlin squirms, but can’t help his flush of pressure. To greet their royal visitors, he’s dressed in a midnight blue, high collared tunic, and a long cape made of a shimmering, silver fabric. Arthur is resplendent in Camelot red and gold, just the hint of stubble on his jaw, something Merlin finds stupidly attractive - not that he lets on to Arthur.

“You look golden,” Merlin replies softly.

He turns in Arthur’s arms, leaning forward to kiss him, their mouths soft and reverent, pleasure lacing through him at the sweetness of it. They break apart, taking a moment to breathe each other in. Merlin is sure the helplessly fond smile Arthur gives him is mirrored on his own face.

The door swings open, but they stay tangled together. Elia pokes her head in, pulling a disgusted face. “Do you have to do that?”

“Do what?” Merlin asks innocently, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s neck.

“Be disgusting,” Elia mutters, wandering into the room.

Her hair has been neatly braided and she’s in a lilac dress with floaty sleeves. She had wanted to wear her training armour, but had changed her mind at the last moment. Not that there would have been objections to either outfit - as far as Arthur and Merlin are concerned, Elia can wear whatever she chooses.

Elia holds out a golden bangle. “Can you help me with the clasp?”

Merlin recognises it instantly, dropping his hand to squeeze Arthur’s wrist. The look on Arthur’s face is bittersweet; he walks over to the bed, sitting on the edge as Elia flops down beside him.

Arthur carefully clicks the clasp closed. “This was my mother’s bracelet.”

Elia stares up at him with wide eyes. “It was?”

Arthur nods. “You see the bird? That was the sigil of her house.”

Elia looks solemn. “I’m sorry she died.”

“So am I,” Arthur says quietly. “But she would have been very proud of you, I think. She would have wanted you to have this.”

“What was her name?” Elia asks tentatively,

“Ygraine,” Merlin answers for Arthur.

Elia fiddles with the sleeves of her dress, before glancing at Merlin, and then Arthur. “I miss my mother sometimes. Even though I never knew her.”

Elia’s parents had died when she was very young, or at least that’s what the villager who’d dropped her off at the orphanage when she was five years old said. She had been passed from household to household ever since, but there was nobody left to care for her.

Merlin had happened to be there when she was brought in; a solemn, pale faced little girl. He had known immediately, instinctively, in that moment that he couldn’t let her grow up alone.

It hadn’t been that simple, of course. Elia was a stoic child, distrusting of adults after never having one be a consistent figure in her life. It had taken a year to build her trust, to show her love and kindness and that both those things could be a constant in her life.

They had tentatively asked her if she’d like to live with them when she turned six; Elia had flung herself into their arms and never looked back since.

“That’s alright,” Merlin says gently. “I am sure your mother would have been very proud of the young lady you’ve grown into.”

“We can go visit her village again soon, if you’d like,” Arthur offers, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Neither of them had attempted to keep Elia’s past from her, or tried to rewrite her history. Merlin of all people knows the pain of having a parent keep a secret from you. The village Elia’s parents were from is still standing, though no one there now remembers her, all moved on or since passed. Still, Elia had visited for the first time when she was ten, an emotional trip for all three of them.

“Alright.” Elia cuddles into Arthur’s arm. “How long do I have to stay at the feast tonight?”

Merlin strokes her hair. “You have to stay for at least the feast part, but you don’t have to stay for the dancing.”

“I’d have thought you’d want to stay,” Arthur frowns. “You know Annabeth is going too?”

Elia shakes her head. “Yes, but she’ll spend all night making eyes at that squire in her class.”

“Who, Elliot?”

“No, not Elliot,” Elia exclaims, like Merlin has said something incredibly stupid. “Clara. She doesn’t like Elliot anymore.”

“Yeah, Merlin,” Arthur echoes. “Annabeth doesn’t like Elliot anymore.”

Merlin pulls a face at him over Elia’s head. “I see. Once the meal is over, anytime you want to leave just come and tell one of us. That goes for Rowan, too.”

Elia climbs to her feet, kissing them both on the cheek. They watch her leave, and Merlin leans into Arthur’s side as the door swings closed. He takes Arthur’s hand, lifting it to brush a kiss to his knuckles. “Are you alright?”

“I wish my mother could see her,” Arthur murmurs. “That she could see both her grandchildren.”

Merlin squeezes his hand. “Who says she can’t?”

Arthur rests his head against Merlin’s shoulder, their hands entwined. “All things considered, we haven’t done a bad job of raising them both, have we?”

“No,” Merlin agrees warmly. “Not bad at all.”

-

Mithian looks as regal as ever as she arrives in Camelot with her entourage. Elia, standing to Merlin’s right, is practically vibrating with excitement. Next to her, Rowan is scuffing his pristinely polished boots against the stone. (George is going to have a fit.)

Mithian dips into a delicate curtsy. “King Arthur. King Merlin.”

“Queen Mithian,” Arthur returns warmly. “Welcome to Camelot. It’s our honour to receive Nemeth on this momentous anniversary.”

He gives a formal bow, before smiling broadly, opening his arms. Mithian hugs them both tightly, before turning to Elia. “Princess Elia. Haven’t you grown since I saw you last?”

Elia beams. “I’ve been practising with the crossbow you sent me for my birthday.”

“Ah, you’ll have to show me later.” Mithian turns to Rowan, crouching down. “And you must be Prince Rowan.”

“Hello,” Rowan says shyly, half hidden behind his older sister.

Mithian gracefully rises to her feet. “Is Annis on her way?”

“She’ll be arriving tomorrow morning,” Arthur explains. “Essetir and Mercia are expected in the afternoon.”

“Oh, good.” Mithian grins. “Annis always brings the best fighters for tourneys. I’m quite looking forward to it.”

Arthur arches an eyebrow, politely offering her his arm. “And the knights of Camelot aren’t enough of a challenge?”

Merlin leaves them to their competitive bickering, placing a gentle hand on Elia’s shoulder and lifting Rowan up onto his hip. He mumbles something into Merlin’s shoulder that he doesn’t catch. “What was that, darling?”

“I thought Elia was the queen,” Rowan whispers.

“Elia will be the Queen of Camelot when she grows up,” Merlin tells him. “Mithian is the Queen of Nemeth.”

Technically, Mordred would be regent if anything happened to Arthur or Merlin, given Elia is too young to rule. (Not matter what she might say.) Mordred has taken up the mantle of regent on the odd occasion, mainly at the start of their reign when there were large battles that took both of their attention.

Rowan frowns. “Where’s Nemeth?”

Elia pokes his stomach, making him giggle. “Ages and ages away. Father, did you know the age to compete in junior tournaments in Nemeth is fifteen?”

“Is it?”

Elia nods. “I’m going to run away to Nemeth when I’m fifteen to compete.”

“Well, thank you for letting me know,” Merlin says dryly. “I won’t send a patrol out looking then.”

The mood in the great hall is a buoyant one that evening, the air filled with chatter and laughter. Over the years Mithian has become a close friend, and it warms Merlin’s heart to see her again and hear how she has risen to the mantle of Queen.

There is dancing after the feast and, as he has done countless times, Arthur takes Merlin’s hand and sweeps him onto the floor.

The musicians start up a lively tune as Arthur folds one palm in Merlin’s and places the other on his waist. “Can you believe Mithian thinks her competitors will beat ours in the tourney?”

“Arthur, I don’t care,” Merlin says flatly. “I don’t care about who has the latest swords from the forges of Gedref.”

“They’re from the forges of - “

“Arthur,” Merlin interrupts him. “Light of my life, please go dance with Leon if you want to talk about the quality and durability of steel.”

“He is a far better dancer than you.”

“Shouldn’t have married a commoner then, should you? Farm boys don’t get private dance lessons.”

Arthur laughs, spinning Merlin under his arm. “I fear Leon has too much hair to be my husband.”

“That’s the style now!” Merlin nods to where Leon’s hair is swept back into a bun. “Gwaine wears his like that.”

“God forbid the day I have the same style as Gwaine,” Arthur mutters.

Merlin opens his mouth to respond, when he spies Elia and Rowan making their way over. Rowan is knuckling at his eyes, looking dead on his feet.

“Can we go now?” Elia asks miserably. “Annabeth hasn’t talked to me all night, she’s with _Clara_.”

Arthur steps forward, but Merlin catches his arm. “I’ll put them to bed. You stay here and talk to our guests.”

They exchange a glance, before Arthur nods. As Merlin picks up a sleepy Rowan, Arthur rests a hand on Elia’s shoulder. “Do you want to come on a ride with me tomorrow morning?”

Elia frowns. “Don’t you have a big meeting with Nemeth tomorrow?”

“I have time for a ride before breakfast,” Arthur says firmly.

Elia brightens, her shoulders lifting. She nods enthusiastically and Arthur kisses her forehead. He murmurs a goodnight to Rowan, dropping a kiss to his curls, then leaves a final kiss on the corner of Merlin’s mouth.

They’re a slow procession through the corridors of Camelot, the sounds of the ongoing feast drifting after them. Rowan is a dead weight, fast asleep as he takes deep, even breaths. Elia is swaying on her feet, her fingers linked with Merlin’s in a way she hasn’t done since she was a little girl.

As they round the corner, a figure steps out of the passageway. Merlin slows, narrowing his eyes. “Still lurking in the shadows, I see.”

The figure pulls down his hood. “I should have known not to expect a warm welcome.”

“Stop being such a cryptic bastard and you might get one.”

There’s a pause, and then Mordred’s face splits into a wide smile. “Good to see you, Merlin.”

Merlin grins. “It’s good to have you home. How was your trip to the eastern territories?”

“Promising. The druid encampment there is open to our proposal.” Mordred yawns. “I haven’t missed the tournament, have I?”

“No, that’s tomorrow. The delegation from Nemeth have arrived. I’m just going to put these two to bed, but you can go and join the festivities if you like.”

“Hello, Mordred,” Rowan mumbles. Merlin hadn’t even realised he was awake.

Mordred’s eyes soften. “Hello, Rowan. Hello, Elia.”

Mordred had been the one to bring Rowan to them. Merlin can still remember that night, clear as crystal in his mind.

It had been gone midnight when Mordred had banged on their door, explaining a child had been left at the orphanage. The child, who clearly had magical abilities, had been crying for four hours straight and wouldn’t let anyone near him to calm him down.

Merlin had no idea what Mordred wanted him to do about that, and had said as much. But Mordred had that odd look in his eyes he gets sometimes, and had said with conviction, “He needs you. He needs you both.”

So they’d gone and when they’d arrived, Merlin had been shocked to feel Rowan’s magic reaching out to his. His magic had cautiously responded in kind, and to the surprise of everyone, Rowan had fallen silent, hiccupping softly as he blinked in Merlin’s direction.

Merlin had stared back, at this tiny, tow headed child, and had known without question that they’d be taking him home.

(In hindsight, the only person completely unsurprised by that had been Mordred. Cryptic bastard.)

They had been in no way prepared for a toddler; certainly not a wary, anxious toddler who would only allow Merlin to hold him for the first four weeks. Elia had only been theirs for three years by then, and they’d been worried how she’d react - that she’d feel pushed out, or replaced.

Thankfully, Elia had taken to Rowan quickly enough. Especially when he started doing things like turning his own hair pink, or levitating his bowl and smashing it to the floor when he disliked his breakfast.

It had taken a lot of love, a lot of love and comfort and reassurance, not to mention hard work and sleepless nights, but it had all been worth it in the end. Elia and Rowan are both children who smile freely now, and Merlin loves them with a ferocity that could move mountains.

“Did you see any bandits on your trip?” Elia asks Mordred.

Mordred blinks. “Uh. No.”

Elia is undeterred. “What about any Saxons?”

“Er, no Saxons.”

“What about - “

“Alright, time for bed,” Merlin interrupts. “I’ll see you in the morning, Mordred.”

Mordred bids them goodnight, continuing on to his own chambers. Merlin puts Rowan down as Elia goes to her antechamber to change into her night gown. Rowan is fast asleep now, so Merlin takes off his boots and tucks him under the covers.

He waves a hand, and a handful of lights rise up and float above his bed. Rowan doesn’t like sleeping in the dark.

Elia is sitting up in bed, undoing her hair from it’s complicated braid. Merlin sits on the edge of the mattress. “Are you still upset about Annabeth?”

“She could have at least talked to me,” Elia says grumpily. “Instead of making eyes at Clara the moment she stepped into the room.”

Merlin nods slowly. “Are you going to tell her how you feel?”

“No,” Elia says promptly. “I’m going to ignore her all of tomorrow, so she can see how she likes it.”

Merlin has to hide his smile. “Ah, I see. Goodnight, sweetheart.”

“Goodnight,” Elia mumbles, turning over and pulling the blanket over her.

Merlin wards the room before he leaves, a familiar ritual by now. His magic recognises them both as Merlin’s kin, blood or otherwise, and it’s all the stronger for it.

He steals one last glimpse of his children, before blowing out the candle.

-

It’s an early start for him the next day. The delegation from Nemeth, and a great many of Camelot’s own, are hungover and sleeping in late. Merlin had stuck to water, knowing there were chores he needed to complete before the day began in earnest.

His cloak swishes behind him as he makes his way out of the citadel and to the forest beyond the southern gates. This time of year the trees are flush with orange and golds, leaves crunching underneath.

The earth below his feet knows that magic has returned to the land. The forest seems alive around him; the dance of the breeze, the creaking of the trees, the way the birds circle high up above.

Aithusa isn’t in her cave this morning, but swimming in the lake close by. As Merlin watches, she dives beneath the surface, snapping at fish. There is a collection of shimmering stones at the bottom of the pool, which she is equally determined to get at.

She makes a delighted noise when she sees Merlin, chittering excitedly as she scrambles up the bank. At ten years old, Aithusa is now the size of a large horse, and Merlin oofs when she barrels into him.

“Aithusa, I’m soaked,” Merlin exclaims, grimacing as she butts her wet snout against his chest.

Aithusa snorts, shaking her scales like a dog drying itself. Merlin smiles fondly, scratching the spot behind her ears that she likes. She can’t speak yet, but Kilgarah says Aithusa is relatively young in dragon terms and has a lot more growing to do.

They do have a connection, though. It’s hard to explain, but Merlin can sometimes pick up her emotions. Not quite thoughts, but projections of a sort, and right now she’s trying very hard to project something in particular.

“Yes, alright.” Merlin retrieves the slab of meat from the kitchen that he’d stashed in his satchel. He throws it and Aithusa snatches it out of the air, teeth snapping.

Aithusa projects a warm, satisfied feeling in his direction, then makes an inquiring sound.

“Elia and Rowan are back at the castle,” Merlin explains. “Shall I bring them to see you tomorrow?”

Aithusa thumps her tail against the ground in agreement. It settles something in Merlin’s spine to see her. Aithusa is not a tame dragon, and in the summer months she often takes to the skies, and doesn’t return for weeks on end.

It’s Autumn now though, so Aithusa will spend the colder seasons curled in her cave, or occasionally dozing in the castle courtyard. There’s a spot where the sun hits each day at noon, which she’s especially fond of.

He leaves her diving for treasures, making his way round to the rockier collection of caves. One of the wyvern chicks has spotted him already; it shrieks in his direction and attempts to set his foot on fire.

“That’s enough of that,” Merlin says firmly. “Where’s your brothers?”

He throws a slab of meat in the female’s direction, distracting her enough to peek in the cave. The two males are curled up against their mother, nestled into her scales. The adult opens one eye lazily, but doesn’t move when it becomes clear he’s not coming any closer.

He leaves three rabbits by the entrance of the cave, backing out slowly. It’s not as though the wyverns need his help hunting, but he always feels inexplicably guilty when he brings Aithusa treats but not them.

The little female is still chewing on her hunk of beef. She hisses in his direction as he leaves, but doesn’t try to claw his face off, so it’s an improvement on last time.

He takes the scenic route home through the woods. There’s a little stream that cuts through the trees, and Merlin is just crossing the wooden bridge there when he hears a splash.

Merlin smiles, sitting down and dangling his legs over the side of the bridge. He waits patiently, until a head emerges from the water.

“Hello, Nix.”

Liquid black eyes blink back at him. Nix tilts her head, her snow white hair spilling around her like a halo.

“I have fish,” Merlin offers.

Nix makes a chittering sound, drawing closer. Her chin is just above the surface, meaning from here she appears to be just a young woman bathing in the river. Beneath the water, though, Merlin knows you would find her waist tapering off into a seal’s tail.

Young selkies, like Nix, don’t have as much control over their shift. They often take this half form; Nix’s tail is the same brilliant white as her hair, soft and downy like a seal pup’s fur. She’s probably around twenty years of age, but in selkie years that makes her a youngling.

Nix eats the fish in two bites, revealing her sharp teeth. Her voice is lilting when she speaks. “Where are your pups?”

Merlin swings his legs back and forth. “On land.”

“And your mate?”

“He’s on land, too.”

Nix hums, a low noise that Merlin can feel in his bones. “His legend is known, even among the sea folk. Were he not yours, I would lure him under the waves.”

Merlin clears his throats. “Well, he’s definitely mine. Where is your colony?”

Nix bobs down low. “They are out to sea. I will return when the ocean calls me.”

“Soo… you wanted to explore?”

Nix blows a bubble in the water, which Merlin takes as a yes. The stream Nix frequents leads to the northern sea, where you can often see a large colony of selkies sunning themselves on the beaches amongst the seals.

Abruptly, she ducks beneath the surface. When she comes up, she is holding something in her hand. Merlin leans closer and she places a smooth, rounded stone in his palm, her skin cool and slick.

Apparently satisfied, she turns and swims away, her tail flashing twice, before she dives below the water and out of sight.

-

“I saw Nix again,” Merlin tells Arthur as he adjusts his circlet. The pebble is placed on his dresser, taking his collection up to six now.

Arthur narrows his eyes. “The selkie?”

“Yes.”

“Merlin, you said you were going to stop giving her fish!”

“She’s interesting!” Merlin protests.

“Interesting,” Arthur mutters. “Yes, that’s the word I’d use to describe a woman with a seal’s tail and fangs the size of my hand.”

“They’re not the size of your hand,” Merlin corrects him. “They actually retract, so they’re probably a lot longer than that.”

Arthur stares at him. “Merlin, how is that any better?”

Merlin throws his arms up. “I just think it’s cool!”

Arthur shakes his head. “If you keep feeding her, she’ll keep coming back.”

“Yes,” Merlin agrees. “You’d think I’d have learnt my lesson with you.”

Leon interrupts them just as Arthur’s about to lob his crown as Merlin’s head. “The delegation are - what are you doing?”

“Nothing,” Arthur and Merlin chorus.

“I think the crown is meant to go on your head, Sire,” Leon says pointedly. “Prince Rowan has run off again. Well, run off or turned invisible, I’m not sure.”

“Please say it’s the former,” Arthur groans. “Merlin, can you adjust this for me?”

Merlin shakes his head in amusement, stepping forward and straightening the crown on Arthur’s head. Merlin is wearing his own circlet today, a silver band that meets in the centre with a diamond dragon pendant.

It matches the diamond earring that dangles from his left ear; a gift from Arthur on their first anniversary. Arthur touches it gently with the tip of his finger. “This suits you.”

“Yes, you have excellent taste,” Merlin says wryly. “Come on.”

He slips his arm through Arthur’s, following Leon out the door.

“This colour suits you as well,” Arthur comments, smirking when Merlin can’t quite help blushing.

He’s in mint green today, soft fur stole wrapped around his shoulders. In contrast, Arthur is dressed in darker tones for once; a navy tunic, a cloak of the finest leather that clasps with a shining silver dragon.

It highlights the striking blue of his eyes, the ashy sweep of his hair. He looks regal and powerful and Merlin is absolutely giving George that raise.

Merlin rubs his thumb over the curve of Arthur’s elbow. “Well, this time you can’t take the credit. It’s George’s excellent taste that picked this out for me.”

“We should really give him a raise.”

“Exactly what I was thinking.”

Thankfully, by the time they reach the hall, Rowan has been found. Turns out he’d snuck off to visit Gaius.

“He’s been no trouble,” Gaius reassures the harried looking servants standing around. “He just wanted to check on the potion we’re making, didn’t you?”

Rowan is clinging to Gaius’ hand and looking crestfallen. “Am I in trouble?”

Arthur crouches down in front of him. “You’re not in trouble, but people worry when they don’t know where you are. Do you think you can tell someone where you’re going, next time?”

Rowan bobs his head. “I will, I promise.”

Arthur squeezes his shoulder. “Good boy. Do you still want to watch the tournament with Uncle Gaius?”

Rowan nods enthusiastically, and Merlin speaks to Gaius in an aside. “Thank you for this, Gaius. You know he hates large crowds, he’ll be far happier watching from the medical tent with you and Daegal.”

“It’s no problem at all,” Gaius assures him. “He’s a delightful boy and Daegal dotes on him. He’s desperate to convince Mordred to have one of their own.”

Merlin bites his lip. “And you know where to find me if there’s any problems - “

“Yes, the royal box at the front of the stands is hard to miss,” Gaius interrupts. “He’ll be fine, Merlin. I promise I’ll get you straight away if anything happens.”

Merlin clasps his arm. “I’ll try to stop worrying. Thank you, Gaius. Truly.”

Elia tugs his sleeve. “Father, Uncle Gaius told me you once released a goblin. Is that true?”

“Gaius!” Merlin hisses.

“Not just a goblin,” Gaius tells Elia conversationally. “Your father got up to all sorts of trouble - “

“Yes, thank you,” Merlin cuts in, elbowing Arthur when he starts to laugh. “It’s time to go.”

They manage to corral Elia towards the stands and into the royal box. Queen Annis is already seated, eyes bright as she watches the competitors warm up below them.

“Queen Annis,” Arthur greets her. “We haven’t missed anything, have we?”

“No, the first round hasn’t begun.” Annis gestures towards the field. “There’s my champion.”

Merlin glances towards the ring, then doubletakes. “I didn’t know we were allowing brick walls to compete this year.”

Annis laughs, and Arthur and Merlin take their seats. Elia is sat on Merlin’s right, but she keeps sneaking glances at the Queen.

Annis catches her in the act, eyes softening. “I hear you’ve been practising your archery, Princess Elia.”

Elia nods proudly. “I have, your highness.”

Annis takes a sip from her goblet. “Perhaps one day you’ll be as skilled as your father. Shooting a wyvern mid flight was quite a feat.”

“You did what?” Elia squeals.

“Oh, look,” Arthur says loudly. “There’s Annabeth.”

Annis looks amused. “And your youngest, Merlin? I don’t see him.”

“He doesn’t like all the noise,” Merlin explains. “At seven years of age, it’s a bit much for him. He’s with his Uncle, where it’s a bit quieter.”

“Understandable.” For a moment Annis’ gaze shutters, before she smiles again. “My granddaughter is the same. In more ways than one, they believe she has magic, too.”

Annis leans in closer, lowering her voice. “I know the peace treaty is in place, but it’s never too early to further secure an alliance. A childhood betrothal between your son and my granddaughter could establish peace for many years to come.”

“Oh,” Merlin stammers. “I - I’m not sure - “

Annis laughs, gripping his hand. “I jest.”

“You do?” Merlin says weakly, abruptly remembering how terrifying Annis.

Annis snorts. “Anyone with eyes can see you married for love. You’d want the same for your children, no doubt.”

Merlin’s breath catches in his throat. He takes a moment to answer, affection thick in his chest. “Yes. Yes, I would.”

Annis nods, satisfied. “Now, where is Mithian? The tourney is about to begin and I want to make a wager.”

Arthur had caught the end of their conversation. He is watching Merlin with soft, tender eyes. The warmth in Merlin’s chest has his heart stuttering and he doesn’t have the words to express that. Instead, with a shaky hand, he lifts Arthur’s knuckles to his mouth and brushes his mouth against them.

“My King,” Merlin breathes.

Arthur’s eyes crinkle at the corners. “My sorcerer.”

-

In the end, Annis wins her wager against Mithian. Mithian accepts her defeat gracefully; Annis’ champion is three times taller than anyone else. Besides, she should have learnt betting against Annis is never a good idea.

The celebrations are raucous that evening. Ale flows easily, the different kingdoms mingling effortlessly as victors cheer and losers commiserate. The music is loud, their footsteps thumping against the floor even louder.

Five years of peace and the promise of more to come is a heady feeling; Merlin feels as though he could float away on it.

Merlin dances with Arthur three times, then Gwaine, twice with Leon, once with Mordred, and even one memorable jig with Annis. Finally, he ends back in Arthur’s arms, by which point it is definitely closer to morning than night.

Arthur, blazing gold and more than a little drunk, shouts, “I want to see the stars!”

And Merlin, who would give Arthur the world, sees no reason not to oblige. They stumble out of the hall, laughing and fumbling their steps. The air outside in the courtyard is bracing, a rush of cold after the warmth of the hall.

Arthur reaches out to pull Merlin into his arms. The urgency and excitement of the past hours eases; in the light of the moon, the world is soft, muted. They are washed in greyscale and carved by shadows; there is nothing but them and the stars above.

“Arthur,” Merlin whispers. “Arthur, I love you.”

Arthur’s mouth tastes of wine, the sharp tang of berries and the sweet promise of undying affection.

“I love you,” Arthur breathes against Merlin’s lips. “Let's stay here a little longer.”

“Anything,” Merlin promises, and they do.

-

A few nights later, Merlin is putting Rowan to bed when he asks, “Can you tell me a story?”

The last of their guests trickled out of Camelot this morning. The peace treaty had been renewed and extra clauses added. Mithian has invited them all to Nemeth at Yuletide, and there are plans for Elia to spend a summer in Caerleon next year.

“A story?” Arthur repeats, adding an extra blanket to his bed. “Alright, then. Do you want to choose a book?”

Rowan glances at Elia, who clears her throat. “Not that kind of story.”

Merlin lights the candles with a wave of his hand; the entire room is bathed in an orange glow, safe and comforting. He should have known something was up when Elia got into bed without trying to stall.

“What kind of story would you like, then?” Merlin asks, leaning against the door frame and exchanging an amused look with his husband.

“We want a story about - “ Rowan begins.

“About Camelot,” Elia interrupts hastily. “And it has to have a prince in it.”

Merlin arches an eyebrow. “Does it?”

“Yes,” Elia says firmly. “And a farmer’s son.”

“And a dragon,” Rowan adds.

“And knights.”

“And a girl called Elia and a boy called - “

“Rowan,” Elia hisses. “They can tell us that part later.”

“Alright,” Arthur laughs. “I think we get the picture.”

“So you’ll tell us the story?” Rowan says hopefully.

“We’ll tell you the story,” Merlin confirms. “But it’s a long one. Not one that can be told in one night.”

Elia says, very seriously, “We’re okay with that.”

They all end up on Elia’s bed. Arthur and Merlin sat with their backs to the headboard, Rowan snuggled in Arthur’s lap and Elia with her head resting on Merlin’s shoulder.

Merlin presses his mouth to Arthur’s shoulder, and feels Arthur’s arm settle comfortably around his waist.

It’s just how Merlin wants to spend his evening.

It’s exactly how he intends to spend every one from this day forth.

“Many years ago,” he begins. “There lived a boy and his name was Merlin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So we'll get the chapter notes out the way before we get to the emotional part:
> 
> \- You want to know what chapter I decided these two idiots were having kids? chapter thirty fecking two. which meant i had very little time to set up that plot line and threaded some random comments in. having said that, maybe i didnt need to set it up too much, as WHO KNOWS WHAT YOU'RE DESTINY IS GOING TO BRING. no one but mordred, who knows everything because he's a powerful druid in his own right.  
\- i love elia and rowan. i hope you do too. i think writing children is very tricky and hope i did a good job.  
\- merlin having his own personal band of sorcerers is all i want in life.
> 
> extras that didn't make it in:  
\- hunith loves both her grandchildren and spoils them utterly  
\- wren and leon are both functional bis who are completely *disfunctional* around each other  
\- tam spent his entire childhood pestering mordred and merlin whenever they visited the druid camp, wanting to become part of merlin's personal guard
> 
> there's more i'm sure, which i will add in if i think of it all. 
> 
> Someone commented last chapter saying they'd been reading this story since January. I was sure they were wrong and went back to check the dates and they weren't - I have been writing this story for ten months. It is the longest story I have ever wrote and what started as a rewrite of what we could have had in Season 4/5, became an opportunity for me to add all the plot lines I want and correct the cgi mess that was bbc merlin looool. 
> 
> I am so incredibly grateful for every comment I've had on this. I have woken up to 15+ comments in my inbox and entire ESSAYS about what people liked, and I cannot express how amazing that is. Just thank you so much from the bottom of my heart. 
> 
> I can't quite believe I'm saying goodbye to this story, but at the same time, it's ready to end. I am not going to rule out coming back to this and writing some one shots sequels - something I'd never thought I'd do, but actually it was so fun to write an epilogue that I can see myself do something more. Who knows. 
> 
> My next story will be a regency au, which i have loosely sketched out. I will take a short break after writing this monster, but I doubt it'll be that long before I'm back. I always ending up writing two fics at once - idiot - so I am toying with the idea of writing my slightly short wings au alongside the regency one 
> 
> Anyway, this story has meant so much to me and it is so amazing to me that it's meant so much to other people. I love Merlin and Arthur and I've had an incredible time exploring what they could have been.
> 
> I am not a little tearful about pressing that post chapter button. Thank you so much for reading this.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhhh i hope people enjoyed this chapter? I am painfully aware of the lack of interaction between arthur and merlin in this chapter, dw the next chapter will be these two idiots alone in the wilderness together. just them, the forest and a whole bunch of creatures waiting to eat them 
> 
> im really nervous about posting this chapter, please bear in mind it's only the first one and the plot will make more sense and get progressively less shit as we go on lmao 
> 
> jokes aside i love to hear people's thoughts and comments mean everything! when no one says anything I just assume it’s utter crap lmao 
> 
> I have this all planned out - for once!! - so should update soon!!

**Works inspired by this one:**

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  * [so close and i'm halfway to making decent art for once.](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27622237) by [trashcan_in_space](https://archiveofourown.org/users/trashcan_in_space/pseuds/trashcan_in_space)


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